Crossroads
by Indelible Evidence
Summary: Damaged Goods, #2 - Sequel to Strikethrough. It's been ten months since Remi disappeared with the cure for ZIP poisoning, but Kurt refuses to give up. When he runs into Remi in Venice, he's determined to bring back more of her memories of Jane's life, no matter how much she's determined to shut him out. Canon divergent from 4x07 onwards. Remi Briggs/Kurt Weller - Reller
1. Isolated

**Author's Note:** I had to do it... I had to start this one. *facepalm* I'm hopeless, but at the moment I'm all about the Reller, and this was already in my head, and nothing else was coming through, so I figured I might as well. Hey, at least I finished one WIP before I started this!

It's best to read Strikethrough before you start this one, as it's set ten months after the events of that fic. I have recounted the main plot points in this chapter, but there might be some things that still don't make sense if you haven't read that one. Changes to canon: Eve didn't die at the end of 4x07, Remi didn't break Shepherd free of the black site, there was no procedure to bring back Jane's memories on Roman's drives, Remi stole the cure from Dr. Roga and went on the run after killing Eve and sleeping with Kurt. So there are some changes between 4x07 and 4x10, and anything after 4x10 didn't happen. Also, Avery doesn't exist in this fic, because it's easier that way. :)

* * *

"I missed you so much."

Remi smiled and snuggled deeper into Kurt's embrace. His strong arms held her tightly, and though they were only just done having sex, desire rose within her again as he kissed the side of her neck.

"I haven't felt right, the whole time you've been gone."

_Me either,_ she wanted to say. _I kept thinking I saw you, but you were never there. Now that you're here, I don't ever want to let you go._

The words wouldn't leave her lips. Instead, she tilted her head to give him a kiss that said everything that she couldn't—sweet and affectionate, with just an edge of heat.

He looked down at her with hope and pain in his expression. "Don't leave me again, Jane. Please."

"Never," Jane replied, as Remi gazed up into his loving expression with a growing sense of dismay. "Being without you for so long was more than I could stand. I love you too much to go through that again."

"I love you, too."

They moved together again, their smiles fading to need as their kiss deepened…and Remi snapped back to awareness, kicking the bed sheets from her overheated body with a whispered curse.

_Damn you, Jane._

For a few moments she lay there, savouring the bittersweet memory of Kurt's loving embrace. Then, unable to bear harsh reality anymore, she got out of bed and dragged herself into the bathroom, to wash away the impact of the memory-dream that had snagged her in its clutches.

Kurt Weller would never look at Remi the way he looked at his precious Jane Doe. And Remi didn't want him to, not when she was herself. But when she got back a memory of being Jane, she didn't just get sight, sound and sometimes other senses. She got Jane's emotions, too. Emotions that made her crave Weller's touch, his smile, the way his gaze softened when he looked at her.

At _Jane._ He would never look at Remi that way, not now that he knew she was the one in control again.

Remi scowled at herself in the bathroom mirror as she waited for the shower temperature to adjust. _Yup, still me. I may not have anybody in this whole damn world, but at least I'm in my right mind again._

She stepped under the spray and soaked her shoulder-length hair. In the ten months since she'd left New York behind, it had grown from Jane's usual messy bob into something that felt more like her old self. She'd keep growing it for a while; she was sick of looking in the mirror and seeing Weller's wife.

_Oscar. It's you I miss, not him._

She envisioned her ex-fiancé in her mind—handsome, quietly confident, deadly and tenacious. Grief and loneliness swelled in her chest, and she rested her palms against the shower tiles, her head bowed under the water.

On the heels of her grief came blinding anger. Jane had killed the only man Remi had ever truly loved. Remi didn't even remember it; her only proof that it had happened at all was in Jane's statement to the FBI, where she'd said she'd tried to bring Oscar in. He'd refused to go—of course—and Jane had killed him for it.

Everyone she cared about was either dead or locked up because of that bitch—in black sites she had no chance of finding now that the FBI knew she'd had a list of the old locations. The CIA would have switched everything up, leaving nothing to chance, and if there was a way to find out where the new black sites were, Remi didn't know it.

She was alone. And it was Jane Doe's fault. Jane's, and her team's. Including Weller.

Now that she was no longer dying of ZIP poisoning—and with no way to confront Shepherd about whether she'd known it would be fatal before allowing her adoptive daughter to be dosed—Remi's life stretched ahead of her, and she had no idea what to do with it. She'd toyed with the idea of starting a new organisation from scratch, exacting her revenge on Jane's friends and finding a way to locate and free Shepherd. But if she eventually went down that path, it would need to be later, after the dust had settled. Once they'd stopped expecting it.

She'd used the remaining bank robbery money she'd stashed away to fly to Europe—Serbia, to be precise. There weren't many European countries that didn't extradite wanted criminals to the States, but Serbia didn't have an extradition treaty, so it was a safe place to plan her next move. She'd spent her days exploring the cities, historical sites and monasteries of the region, and her nights studying the Serbian language, needing something to occupy her thoughts. Since she already had a good grasp of Bulgarian, it wasn't too difficult to come to terms with the new tongue, and soon she was easily able to converse with the locals.

Not that the conversations had really been anything more than small talk. Now, more than ever, Remi was keenly aware of how alone she was. Without Oscar, Roman, Shepherd…who really knew her?

She'd forged bonds with her Orion team members, but now she was the only one left. Nigel and Chris Thornton had become friends, but now Chris was dead, along with hundreds of other innocent civilians in Afghanistan's destroyed towns and cities, and she'd introduced Nigel to Shepherd, sealing his fate.

She'd made friends—more like friendly acquaintances— amongst Shepherd's ranks back home, but none were left. She'd watched the last free member of their movement, Dolan Osmond, die as a result of a car wreck. She'd pulled him back in when she'd returned to her own mind, and he'd died within two days.

Remi had to admit it to herself. She was so lonely, it was like a physical ache. Even her hallucination of Roman had disappeared, now that she was no longer dying. When was the last time she'd been touched, other than a slight brush of fingers as she took purchases from or handed money to shopkeepers?

_Kurt._

Remi groaned, resisting the urge to beat her head against the shower cubicle wall. _Everything comes back to that bastard. Everything._

The last time she'd touched someone for more than a split-second, she'd been stroking Kurt's face as the sedative she'd injected him with pulled him under. He'd looked at her with such fear, convinced that if she fled from him, she'd have no way to get the cure for ZIP poisoning. He'd been terrified she'd die.

_That _Jane _would die. He doesn't give a damn about me. If he didn't think I was holding his precious wife's body hostage, he'd shoot me without a second thought. The only reason he came to help me that day was because he didn't want my wounds to get infected._

Remi swallowed the pain and tried to think of something else, but now she was on the track of reliving that day, she couldn't stop until she'd gone through all of it. The way he'd gently cleaned, stitched and dressed the injury between her shoulder blades, his careful touch sending unwanted ripples of lust through her skin. He'd sensed her desire, but had only commented on it once as he'd worked, keeping his distance.

While she'd been passed out with a ZIP-induced migraine on the cabin safehouse's couch, Kurt had put a plan of his own into motion. Not only had he told Patterson to get the CIA to move Shepherd to a different safehouse—screwing up Remi's plan before she'd had a chance to implement it—but he'd also decided Eve needed to be dealt with. When Remi had woken to find that he'd asked Patterson to broadcast the safehouse's location to the underground banker and her mercenary team, Remi had nearly screamed with frustration.

They'd prepared for an ambush, their anger and sexual tension rising with each minute that passed. After the threat was neutralised, riding high on the residues of combat adrenaline, Remi had shoved Kurt back against the wall and kissed him, desperate to release some of the pent-up emotion within her.

After yet another argument, she'd goaded him into rough, heated, furious sex that had left them both gasping and clinging to each other, overwhelmed in the aftermath of their passion. Just remembering the way he'd touched and tasted her turned Remi on. He'd known it was her, not Jane, and he'd fucked her anyway, ordering her to look at him, laughing at her assertion that she hated him.

"_This isn't hate, Remi."_

She'd come harder than she ever had in her life. But that was only because he knew her body from years of fucking Jane. Her body's responses had already been sensitised to him. It had nothing to do with how Remi felt about him.

It had been a stupid mistake to be that vulnerable with him. One she would never make again. Ever.

Growling under her breath, she abruptly turned the temperature dial for the shower, then gasped as the freezing torrent of water shocked the breath from her. _Fuck you, Kurt Weller. I'm done fantasising about you. You were a means to an end. You're nothing to me._

After her shower, she towelled off, then blasted her hair with hot air from the dryer, avoiding looking at her own reflection. She'd admired her tattoos before the ZIP was administered, thinking they'd be a reminder of her triumph when she came through the other side of the mission, and was welcomed back into the fold. Now, they just reminded her of her failure. Of Jane falling in love with the agent she was supposed to be double-crossing. She had been so weak.

Crawling back into bed, Remi curled into a ball on her side, her arms wrapped around her own waist to try to ease the steady ache of loneliness that ate at her.

Tomorrow, she'd move on again. Right now, she was in Madrid, Spain. From Serbia, after the first month, she'd ventured into more wealthy European countries, vaguely remembering Jane had spent some time in France, Spain and Germany, working kidnap and ransom jobs under the radar as she hid from bounty hunters. Remi had made some connections and pulled in a decent amount of cash, always working alone, not trusting anyone or sharing her pay.

Something had been bugging her for the past week, though. _July tenth, July tenth, July tenth…_ She had no idea why the date kept repeating in her mind, along with a memory of Piazza San Marco—St. Mark's Square, in Venice, Italy.

It had to be something related to Jane's memories. Even knowing that it linked to a time in her past when she'd been someone she hated, Remi was too curious to let the date pass by without visiting Venice. She'd always loved it there, and had dragged Roman and Oscar along on separate occasions, back before everything had gone so wrong.

She'd have to be careful. If it really was a date important to Jane, Weller might be there, hoping she might remember and show up. If so, Remi couldn't let him see her.

Last time she'd spoken to him, when she'd called his apartment once she'd been cured of the ZIP poisoning, Kurt had told her he'd find her and get his wife back—as if that were even possible. Even so, Remi couldn't let him back into her head. Jane was gone, and she was here to stay, whether he liked it or not.

* * *

**Author's** **Note: **I'd really appreciate it if you let me know what you think (of Reller, of the fic, whatever!). What did you like/dislike? (Though if you just want to tell me you hate the pairing, I could do without knowing that.) Anything you want more of? How do you think the past ten months have been for Kurt? :)


	2. Hear Me Out

**Author's Note:** Glad some people are happy to see this fic series returning! Just before you get going on this chapter - I promise I haven't had Kurt spiral down into alcoholism. He's only got a hip flask today because he's actively planning to wallow in his grief over not knowing if he'll ever get Jane back. I do plan to have Remi comment on it during one of their snarking sessions in the next chapter.

* * *

St. Mark's Square hadn't changed much since Kurt's last visit. Tourists milled around the large, open space, staring up at the beautiful architecture and soaking in the ambiance and history of Venice, Italy. Every now and then, a lovestruck couple would wander past his vantage point, and Kurt's throat would tighten.

_Jane. I miss you so much._

If the situation hadn't been so heart-breaking, he might have found it funny. When he'd first realised Jane had gone into hiding from bounty hunters, over three years ago now, he'd stood in this exact same spot, hoping to catch a glimpse of her familiar figure amongst the crowd. Now, here he was again. He'd taken the same room in the same hotel they'd checked into when they'd first visited together, hours before he'd gone down on one knee before her and asked her to be his wife.

Jane hadn't been here when he'd searched for her three years ago, and Remi wasn't here now. It had been a vain hope. Remi had dropped completely off the radar since she'd left the States at the end of September last year. Unlike the last time she'd disappeared, she'd vanished without a trace. When Jane had been in hiding, she'd surface for just long enough for the bounty hunters to find her, subdue whichever assassin found her first, then try to get information from her would-be killers to aid her in her task of finding the bounty contract's holder. It had never worked—right up until Roman had found the guy, after Jane had been on the run for eighteen months.

And for that whole time, on each occasion that Jane became traceable, Patterson or Keaton would let Kurt know. He'd get on a plane, hoping against hope that he could track her down before she vanished again, heedless of the expense or his own fatigue.

Roman was six feet under now, and Remi, unlike Jane, had no interest in becoming traceable. She'd left the country with a fake passport and flown to the Ukraine, though Kurt found it unlikely she'd actually stayed there, since he'd been able to trace her that far. With the whole of mainland Europe and Asia to hide in, she'd gone to ground very efficiently. He suspected she must have been covering most of her tattoos, as well—simple enough in the cold of winter, but likely more difficult in the summer months.

The worst thing was that Remi's past, pre-ZIP, had been mostly a blank page. Apart from the languages Jane had been able to speak, and the fact that Remi had done at least one tour in Afghanistan, he'd had no idea where she might be able to hide, and with whom. He'd gone to Pretoria and Cape Town, South Africa soon after she'd disappeared, though he'd known it was a vain hope to actually find her there. She was too smart to go back to her hometown. As for Afghanistan, it seemed reasonable to assume Remi would avoid it. The US military still had a presence there, and since Alice Kruger was presumed dead, her whole unit wiped out by the US government, she'd need to play it safe.

Since Remi didn't remember much of Jane's life, Kurt wasn't expecting her to be here, in Venice. With no leads to follow, he'd had to accept that, short of closing his eyes and sticking a pin in a map, he didn't have the first clue where to find her.

He was here for himself. To remember Jane, and to wallow in his grief.

Kurt unhooked the hip flask from his belt and unscrewed the top, gazing up at the bell tower where Roman had left the succinylcholine Jane had used to fake her death. A bittersweet smile crossed his face as he remembered how she'd determinedly plunged the syringe into her thigh through her jeans. He'd wanted to find another way—a safer way—to take down the guy who'd held Jane's bounty, but she'd overruled him without a word, then pleaded with him to do it her way once he'd had little choice in the matter.

He'd been so pissed off at her that day, as he'd bundled her 'dead' body into a bag—Roman's sense of humour left a lot to be desired—and slung it over his shoulder, transporting his precious cargo to the Abbey of Misericordia, where the fixer waited. The way she'd used the drug, with no regard for his wishes, had infuriated him, reminding him of the way she'd taken off without his input eighteen months earlier. But as the ninety minutes until she'd needed the antidote ticked by, with the fixer a no-show, he'd become more anxious than angry, then frantic when he'd almost been unable to get to her to revive her in time. But once they'd taken out the fixer and his security, working out their combined frustration on the men who'd taken eighteen months of their marriage from them, he'd left the building exhilarated, his wife safely at his side. If he hadn't been so unsure about the status of their relationship at the time, he would have pulled her into his arms and kissed her right then.

Kurt took a gulp of the Scotch within his hip flask, then replaced the cap as the alcohol burned his throat. Funny how life had conspired to keep him apart from Jane. It was almost as though their relationship were cursed. First three months in a CIA black site had kept her from his side. Then he hadn't wanted to spend any more time with her than necessary, their betrayals of each other's trust keeping them apart for months. Then, only a couple of months into their marriage, the bounty on Jane's head had ripped them apart again. The hunt for Roman and Crawford had driven yet more wedges between them, but they'd overcome it all, just in time for the ZIP poisoning to bring back Remi.

Maybe he and Jane just weren't meant to be. Would this separation be even longer than when Jane had been on the run? Was he just fooling himself that she'd ever come back at all?

Kurt had just replaced the flask on his belt when he got the sense he was being watched. Suppressing a frown, he took a long, casual look at his surroundings, wondering if he was imagining things. But then his gaze snagged on a dark-haired woman diagonally across the square from him, and he froze, his cynical despondency blinking into hope.

_Jane._

Wearing a long-sleeved grey shirt despite the hot weather, her hair loose around her shoulders, his wife was staring straight at him, her expression stunned. Kurt hadn't realised his lips had silently formed the syllables of her name until her guard flew up and her jaw clenched, leaving him with no doubt that this was still Remi, not Jane.

She took a small step back, as though planning to vanish into the stream of pedestrians behind her, but for some reason, she hesitated, her eyes still on him. That gave him enough time to cut across the corner of the square to approach her, his hands held up as though he were trying to pacify an unpredictable suspect, showing he was unarmed. "Don't run, Remi, please. I just wanna talk."

Maybe she took pity on him because of his obvious desperation, or maybe she just wanted a drink. Either way, she relaxed a little and gestured at the one of the many small tables that had just been vacated nearby. "You give me a hit of whatever you're drinking, and I'll hear you out."

Kurt watched her carefully as they sat down. She didn't appear to be injured; there was no stiffness to her movements, and she didn't flinch. Handing over his hip flask, he said, "What brings you here?"

Remi sniffed the lip of the flask, then took a swallow of Scotch, staring over at the Doge's Palace. She handed back the flask before she answered. "July tenth, apparently."

Kurt tried to hide his smile, but it must have been unsuccessful, because she scowled. "I have no idea why I'm here other than that this place, on this day, is in my memory. I didn't know why, and it was bugging me, so I came to find out. I didn't know you'd be here."

Her memories were still coming back. _Thank god._

"Look at the spot where I was standing. It doesn't bring anything back?"

Remi glanced back over her shoulder for a long moment, and he took the opportunity to drink in her features. She'd been taken aback to find him here, but not surprised enough that it was a total shock. She must have at least suspected this place was special to them, and that he might be here today. Yet she'd shown up anyway. That was a good sign.

Remi turned back to him, frustration in her eyes. "Nothing."

Kurt gazed back at that spot. The sun had been about to set—it had only been slightly earlier in the day than it was right now—and Jane had been leaning against a pillar, standing up so she could see past the crowds, as she'd sketched the Doge's Palace, the columns of St. Mark and St. Theodore, and the Biblioteca Marciana. Kurt had taken a short walk down the Grand Canal while she'd worked, and when he'd returned, she'd been so absorbed in her drawing that she hadn't noticed his approach.

He'd had the idea that he'd propose during a gondola ride as the sun went down, but as he'd watched her from a few feet away, her hair curling against her jaw and her attention flicking critically between her subject and the sketch, he'd found himself taking the ring box from his pocket, overwhelmed with love.

"You were sketching the view, and I left you to it for a while. When I got back, you were focusing so hard that you didn't notice me until I stopped right in front of you, got down on one knee and asked you to be my wife."

For a split-second, something in Remi's expression wavered, but before he could analyse it, it was gone. "Jane. You asked _Jane_ to be your wife."

Kurt shrugged. "You're the one who said you're not that different."

"And you're the one who said we're nothing alike," Remi said sharply.

Kurt backed off for the moment, looking back out at the breathtaking architecture around them. Unsurprisingly, Jane still seemed to be a very touchy subject for Remi.

After a moment, she sighed. "I'm assuming Jane said yes, and that's why I remember the date. You can spare me the details." Her tone indicated that she was anything but thrilled by the reason she was here, and Kurt couldn't help a twinge of annoyance at the dismissiveness in her tone.

"I'm surprised you remembered the date, but not what was special about it." Reminding himself that as long as she was here, there was hope, he kept his voice non-confrontational. "Anything else like that come back to you?"

Remi's gaze kept flicking down to his fingers, as he tapped them against the hip flask on the table. Something about the way she glanced at them stirred something in his memory, but he couldn't quite pinpoint it.

"Everything else I've remembered is pretty clear." Remi pushed back her chair and stood up. "Well, mystery solved. I'd say it was nice running into you, but—"

"Wait. Please." He grabbed her wrist as she began to turn, and she yanked her arm away as though his touch had burned her, a warning scowl on her face. "You promised to hear me out, and you haven't."

"You haven't said anything worth hearing," she told him, but sighed and resumed her seat. "What do you want?"

"Well, firstly, to tell you I'm glad you're still alive."

Despite her unwillingness to reveal it, he could tell that had touched her. Then her expression became steel again. "It's none of your business anymore if I'm alive or not."

He shook his head. "I don't accept that. We're connected, Remi, whether you remember it or not. I can't just let you walk out of my life like this, not without knowing if I'm ever gonna see you again."

She almost sounded like the Jane he knew when she leaned forward, telling him, "Kurt… I feel bad for you. I really do. If I were in your situation, I'd be out of my mind. But I don't know what your endgame is, here. I won't pretend to be someone I'm not anymore, and I can't change who I am just to please you, even if I wanted to. Getting back some of my memories didn't make Jane into me. Why would remembering Jane's memories turn me back into her?"

It was something he'd heard hesitantly voiced by his team—the only ones who knew Jane wasn't just 'travelling'—at various times over the past year. He had to admit, they had a point. Short of some kind of miracle medical procedure to bring Jane back to the forefront of Remi's brain, he was at a loss as to how he could ever get his wife back.

Remi was watching his hands again, and suddenly, he remembered a conversation he and Jane had had, not long after they'd admitted their feelings for each other.

_At the black site, and…after, I was so lonely. Nobody touched me unless they were beating me or manhandling me from place to place, and when I got out of there, I had no one to talk to, no one to be close to. When I came back to the FBI… I don't know if you noticed, but I started fixating on people's hands when I talked to them, especially yours. Maybe you thought I was just avoiding eye contact, but I… I almost didn't feel real. I just needed someone to touch me. Not even in a sexual way; I just…needed to feel connected. Like it wasn't just me on my own, drifting through life._

When he'd first heard about it, it had bothered him to think that she'd felt so profoundly alone, but it had become a non-issue during their relationship, where they'd rarely spent a day without hugs, kisses and affectionate touches. He'd forgotten all about it until now.

Remi must be feeling that same isolation, if she was exhibiting the behaviour Jane had described to him. It was very unlikely that she'd regained that particular memory of Jane's.

Slowly, he reached across the table to where her right hand rested, and slid his palm over the hexagonal tattoo there. "Can we compromise?"

She pressed her lips together, staring down at his hand over hers, clearly conflicted. Tension radiated from her, but she didn't pull away. "What did you have in mind?"

He'd have to tread carefully to avoid triggering her contempt for him until after she'd agreed. He had no doubt that they'd end up tearing open old emotional wounds, throwing blame and recriminations at each other. It was the way Remi was wired when it came to him—and he'd already had to will his irritation to calm a couple of times during this conversation. But if she made an agreement, she'd probably stick to it, no matter how much they pissed each other off.

After a pause to consider his phrasing, he said, "Let's go get dinner, catch up on the last ten months. Then maybe take a walk, see if anything triggers memories for you. I'll fill in any blanks and answer any questions you have about the past. In return—"

"You stop looking for me when I leave. Stop waiting for Jane to come back, go back to New York, or Colorado, and move on with your life." Remi pulled her hand away, crossed her arms across her chest.

He kept his face impassive, but fear seized him at the thought of giving up on Jane. He'd sworn to her several times throughout her illness that he'd do anything he could to get them more time together, and even though Remi had been the recipient of those words, he'd addressed them to Jane. His wife. The woman he loved.

When he didn't immediately respond, Remi shook her head, clearly impatient. "You wanted a compromise, Kurt. These are my terms. I spend tonight trying to remember, and tomorrow, you let me go. For good."

Kurt took a second hit from his hip flask, knowing he was gambling his entire marriage on the next few hours. On the other hand, he'd gone ten months without even a hint of where she'd been. Remi must have thought he'd tracked her down, rather than their meeting being by accident, and that was why she was trying to get him to back off. If she didn't agree to keep in contact after this, he'd likely never find her again, no matter what he tried.

An old saying flashed through his mind. _If you love something, set it free. If it returns, it's yours. If not, it wasn't meant to be._

"You have a deal." He held out his hand.

Her jaw set, Remi returned the gesture, the pressure of her hand firm and impersonal as they shook on it. "Deal."


	3. One Memory Regained, One Memory Ruined

**Author's Note: **A memory for Remi and an epiphany for Kurt (for all the good it does him in this particular chapter, where Remi is in full bitch-mode). Probably there'll be at least one more chapter of snarky conversation over dinner before they head over to the Abbey of Misericordia, where the bounty was taken off Jane's head.

* * *

_I can't believe I actually ran into him here._

Remi buried the unexpected relief she felt at walking by Weller's side, hiding it behind a scowl. She'd just been alone too long, that was all. Even a known foe started to look like a friend after too much isolation.

"Where are you staying?" Weller asked, as they left St. Mark's Square.

Even his voice made her want to press her cheek against his shoulder and close her eyes. What the hell was wrong with her? This had to be some sort of weird shit from her lizard-Jane brain. She'd been away from him for ten months and been fine. Now, the second she was back within touching distance of him, she'd started going soft again.

She told him the name of her hotel, offering nothing else. If he thought she'd be participating in small talk just because he'd bargained his way back into her life for the rest of the day, he'd find out he was sorely mistaken.

Weller didn't say anything for a few moments, which piqued her curiosity. She looked over to find a small smile at the corners of his lips. _What the hell is he so happy about?_

"What?" she asked, through gritted teeth.

"That's where Jane and I stayed when we first visited. I have a room there this time, too."

"Coincidence," Remi told him, rolling her eyes.

He gave a slight shrug. "Maybe. Or maybe you subconsciously chose that hotel because it struck a chord with your memories."

After a few seconds of silence, she sensed he was about to say something else she wouldn't like. She pre-empted him by going on the attack. "The hip flask is a new feature since I last saw you. You been hitting the bottle like your dad?"

Kurt sighed, and though he didn't outwardly react much, she sensed she'd struck a nerve. "Actually, no. Tonight was meant to be a one-off. I was gonna get a little drunk, walk around, remember what I've lost—"

"Cry a little?" Remi added.

Weller looked as though he was biting his tongue. _Hope it hurts._

"Then," he continued after a moment, "I was gonna fly back to New York and focus on the job for a while. You remember that, right? Saving lives, stopping corruption? You used to enjoy it."

"You know that was me pretending to be Jane."

"No. That was you. You found meaning in that work. You enjoyed it."

He was right, and Remi hated that. Working with the FBI had felt like her Orion special ops missions—back before she'd realised she and her team were nothing but highly trained, deadly pawns serving the whims of a corrupt government.

The FBI was no different. Sure, she'd enjoyed it for a while. But the bloom would have fallen off that rose eventually, just like what had happened with Orion. She'd have turned around one day and realised she was sowing destruction when she'd thought she was making things better. It was just as well that the ZIP poisoning had put a stop to things when it had, before she'd gotten too invested.

_But if the NYO really is as corrupt as the military, Kurt would have realised by now. His whole life has been for the Bureau. He wouldn't stand for it. He'd walk away before he'd do the kind of thing Mayfair did._

"Remi? Where did you just go?" Weller asked softly.

His concern made her want to cry. Instead, she changed the subject. "Where are _we_ supposed to be going? I'm assuming it's someplace you and Jane ate?"

"Not far now."

Weller stopped on a bridge that crossed one of the smaller canals between two areas. Remi got two steps ahead before she realised he was lagging behind. "What are you doing?"

"Enjoying the atmosphere. You should try it. Relax for a second."

Remi gritted her teeth and joined him as he leaned on the stone wall that ran along the edge of the bridge. As she gazed at a speedboat passing underneath, a flicker of a memory hit—another time, and another boat. Weller clinging to the front of it, trying to haul himself from the water onto the craft. The driver had a close-cropped beard and was wearing a cap and sunglasses, obviously having failed to stay incognito. There was one person he could never fool—his sister.

"Roman?" Remi breathed the word rather than spoke it, staring at the spot where the speedboat had been.

Weller was watching her, waiting for her to ask. She almost decided not to, just to spite him—but what if she never fully regained this memory, never knew the context?

"Roman was here with you and Jane?" she said, as casually as she could.

Kurt inclined his head. "Not _with_ us, exactly. But he was the reason we were here that time. You don't remember that? You must have read the Sandstorm file, right? While I was still in the coma?"

"Yeah. But by the time I got to this part, I'd already found out everyone was dead or imprisoned except for Roman. I was having a little difficulty processing." She paused. "I skimmed bits, and maybe the poisoning was affecting my ability to store information. I don't know."

Weller said nothing, just stood upright again and continued in the direction they'd been heading. Remi stifled an exasperated noise and walked quickly to catch up. "What happened here, Kurt? With Roman? Why didn't he just crash the boat into the side of the canal and scrape you off before you could climb up the side?"

He kept walking.

Her fingers itched with the urge to punch him. "Do you want to take a dive into the canal? You made me stick around tonight so I could remember things. You're sabotaging your own cause by withholding information."

"The restaurant is right there." Weller gestured across the square at a cosily lit little eating establishment. "I'll tell you once we've ordered our food."

Remi stared at the restaurant through the deepening twilight. _Oh, fuck, no._ "I said I'd go to dinner. I didn't say romance, candles and eating the same strand of fucking spaghetti like in _Lady and the Tramp._"

Weller raised an eyebrow. "Would it really be that bad? You've kissed me before."

A jolt of stunned arousal ran through her, followed swiftly by mortification that she covered with anger. _Oh, you just had to bring that up, didn't you? Fine. "_Yes, Kurt, I kissed you. Then I made the huge mistake of fucking you before I left you in my dust. Now that we've dredged up past mistakes, let's just move on."

Kurt stared at her like it was the last thing he'd expected her to blurt out, and belatedly she remembered all the times she'd kissed him while she'd been pretending to be Jane. It had been an effective way to derail his focus and diffuse his suspicions, and she'd done it often. He must have been thinking of those relatively chaste duty kisses.

Remi had overreacted to his statement, her mind fixated on the day she'd kissed him as herself, with no pretences or masks between them. Just pure, raw need. And kisses had only been part of what they'd done.

Now he knew her thoughts about kissing him fast-tracked straight to the gutter. She wanted desperately to leave, but she'd already agreed to spend the rest of the evening with him, and he was holding information about Roman over her head. _Great work, Briggs._

After a moment that felt like an eternity, he folded his arms and said, "You agreed to do this. You knew we'd be going places we went back then. If you want me to tell you about Roman…"

Remi gave him a big, fake Jane-Doe smile, adding her own murderous edge to it as she muttered, "Let's just get this done."

* * *

As Remi stalked past him into the tiny restaurant, Kurt took a split-second to collect his thoughts. He'd expected Remi to be pissed at him about the restaurant—in part because she was adamant that she wasn't even a tiny bit Jane, but also because of the way they'd last collided, which had been the opposite of romantic.

He hadn't anticipated that she'd directly address their sexual encounter, but maybe he should have seen it coming. She'd allowed herself to be cornered for the evening—no doubt her logic was along the lines of the ends justifying the means—but she seemed to have made it her mission to make him uncomfortable tonight, like a trapped animal snarling and clawing in its own defence.

He turned over that thought as he followed her inside. Remi knew he would never put her in physical danger, and she also knew he wouldn't impede her freedom in any way that might have consequences for Jane—unless her freedom would result in worse consequences. Even so, she was acting as though she had to defend herself. What was it about him that she found threatening?

He'd thought a lot about Remi and her motivations since she'd left. That question had few possible answers, and he'd almost decided she must be worried that her returning memories would result in Jane resurfacing. Then he noticed just how tense she was under the friendly attitude she was striving for, and the dread in her eyes when she glanced at him.

_Emotional intimacy. She's actually afraid of it._

As they were shown to one of many small tables set for two, the missing piece dropped into place. All this time, he'd been wondering what he'd done to incur Remi's hatred, besides being the one Jane had fallen for. He'd wondered if Shepherd had cultivated that hatred, by accident or by design, over long years of watching him and training her adopted children.

Now he realised that Remi wasn't just angry—she was scared. He'd seen Jane angry, and though it was a strong, genuine emotion that sometimes took time to work through, she'd stayed detached enough from it to deal with it through it with logic, perspective and fairness.

Remi was different. She embraced anger, personified it, didn't care whether it was justified or not, because without it she was vulnerable. She was terrified of anyone getting close to her, and she used attack as her primary defence to stop people from sensing her fear or her perceived weaknesses. From the way Jane had talked about the way Remi had treated Roman, Kurt was guessing that fear even applied to the people she trusted and loved.

The waiter assigned to their table came over, and Kurt vaguely remembered the guy from his first visit here, with Jane. Remi didn't recall, but the waiter clearly remembered her, greeting them both in English before addressing Remi specifically in Italian. They were speaking so fast and fluently that he had no chance of understanding it, so he watched Remi, who was pulling an apologetic face and gesturing to her head as she spoke.

Faced with someone she had no recollection of meeting before, she'd been able to re-establish her equilibrium and pull on her Jane persona—the one he would have seen through much more quickly if not for his own injury and his allowances for Jane's grief over Roman's death. Even though he knew it was an act, it sent a pang of loss through him. Jane had a softness and warmth Remi lacked, but Remi was almost note-perfect in faking it.

The waiter returned to English for Kurt's benefit, sighing. "Head injuries can be nasty. She may not remember me, but I remember the two of you. Newly engaged, wasn't it? Are you married yet?"

Kurt knew the guy meant well, but the answer was so complicated and painful, he didn't know how to answer. A simple truth seemed easiest. "Nearly three years now."

"Ah, yes, I see the rings."

_Rings, plural?_ Kurt's gaze shot to Remi's hand on her menu, and it took all of his willpower to drag his stare away from the wedding ring still sitting on her finger. _She's still wearing her ring. Why would she do that, if she didn't even know I'd be here? Is she playing a longer game here? Or is she—?_

"Well, time flies. Who knows, next time you come here, I might be married too!" The waiter, oblivious to Kurt's surprise and Remi's discomfort, produced a lighter and lit the three small candles in the brass gondola centrepiece on the table. "What can I get you to drink?"

Before Kurt could say anything, Remi launched into Italian again, asking a question he could vaguely understand was about wine, then gesturing to Kurt with a mildly regretful smile. The look the waiter gave Kurt gave him the feeling the translation would give him the urge to leave the restaurant on his own.

After the waiter made a suggestion Remi agreed to, he departed, leaving them to stare at each other across the table.

"What lies did you tell him, darling?" Kurt asked blandly.

Around them, other couples were enjoying their meals and each other's company, and he was conscious of the fact that these people were making their own treasured memories, similar to the ones he and Jane had shared here. He didn't want to ruin the atmosphere for them, no matter how ugly the conversation with Remi got.

Remi smiled at him over her menu. "I mentioned that we'd like a wine with a low alcohol content, dear, since if you get too wasted you have performance problems in the bedroom."

Kurt closed his eyes and silently counted to five, struggling not to retort. There were so many cheap shots he could take at Remi, but riling her up would only make her claws come out farther, and she might even decide to just get up and leave. He drew on the newfound knowledge that her antagonistic behaviour masked fear, and rose above the desire to wound her with his words, at least for now. She'd already lit his fuse, but it was long, and burning slowly.

He'd be able to be civil to her for a while yet. Even longer, if doing so rattled her.

"Low alcohol is a good idea. You'll probably remember more with a clear head. Are you still eating vegan?"

She shook her head. "That was her thing, not mine."

"Make an exception tonight, in case it triggers anything. Please."

Remi frowned. "Was Jane even vegan when you first came here? Patterson said she started it in Kathmandu."

"Not when we ate here. But she was vegan by the time of that memory you just had." Kurt left it at that. She'd do what she wanted, and she had no reason to adhere to his request beyond selfish ones.

The waiter returned with their wine. While Kurt heroically resisted the urge to correct the misconception Remi had given the guy, Remi again switched to Italian, plucking the menu out of her husband's hands and handing it to the waiter as she spoke.

When they were alone again, Kurt sighed. "You ordered for me?"

Remi gave him an angelic smile. "You said you wanted to eat vegan this time, so I took care of it."

His fuse was a little shorter now. She was playing this as manipulatively as she could, trying to make him lose his cool. She could probably guess that this was tainting his memories of when he'd visited with Jane. If she wanted to fight dirty, he'd match her.

He reached for her left hand across the table, leaned forward and kissed her wedding ring. "Nice to see you're still wearing it. I guess it's too much to hope that you've been keeping to the 'forsaking all others' part of your vows, though?"

Remi's face didn't change, but her expression froze in place and her shoulders rose just a little higher. As soon as she could pull her hand back without causing a scene, she tucked it under the table. "It's surprising how many guys will back off once they think you're some other man's property. I should have started wearing a wedding ring right after high school."

He wondered if that were really the reason, or if sentiment had come into play. Or had she only put it on because she'd known she'd run into him? He had too many questions, and she wouldn't give him straight answers if he asked.

Remi let the barest edge of steel into her voice. "Tell me about Roman."

"Let's make another bargain. You ask a question; I'll answer honestly. Then I get to ask a question, and you have to do the same. An answer for an answer, as many times as we have questions. Does that work for you?"

She fidgeted almost imperceptibly, then said, "Fine. I want my answer first. What happened in this city between Roman and you two?"

It took Kurt almost until their food arrived to relate how they'd ended up in Venice a second time. The clue behind Jane's ear referring to the first day of their engagement. The bell tower. The cell phone and Roman's plan to get the bounty off Jane's head. The chase through the city, on foot and by speedboat, until Roman had ditched Kurt in the open water and made his escape, leaving Jane to rescue Kurt in a second boat.

The whole time, Remi's focus on him was absolute. She drank in every word of knowledge about her brother almost hungrily, though she tried not to look desperate for the information. Despite his irritation with and general antipathy for Remi, Kurt couldn't help but feel for her. Just as Jane had sought to understand her fragmented memories, Remi was also piecing together the out of context images in her mind, although it was Jane's interactions with Roman she was trying to recall.

Kurt stopped before getting to the part where he and Jane had enacted Roman's scheme to collect the bounty for her supposedly dead body. If she wanted to know how the story ended, she'd have to ask for it.

"My turn. What have you remembered of Jane's life since you left the States? Really remembered, not just heard about from outside sources."

Before Remi could reply, the waiter brought their food. For the first time since they'd entered the restaurant, Kurt felt his optimism return as he gazed down at a large plate of vegan lasagne.


	4. Enduring Dessert

**Author's Note: **Happy new year, Blindspot fans! My muse decided my first update in 2020 should be Reller, so here we go! Trigger warning for mentions of sexual assault in this chapter (none of the characters have actually gone through any of that, I promise).

* * *

It annoyed her that Weller seemed to be enjoying his meal—which Remi had to admit was pretty good, for vegan food. If it wasn't for what else he might be able to tell her about Roman, she'd have left this facsimile of a date the moment he had kissed her wedding ring. But now that her brother was dead and the FBI files beyond her reach, Weller was her only source of information about Roman's final years of life.

It just meant she had to endure his pathetically hopeful questions about her memory. What had she remembered about Jane's life since she'd left the US? How was she even meant to answer that?

"We made a deal," Weller reminded her. "If you want me to answer any more of your questions, you have to answer mine."

She sighed and stabbed her fork into her lasagne, wishing it were Weller's eyeball. "Uhhh…mainly snippets. Nothing more than a few moments long. Shooting Cade. Not shooting Roman in DC. You playing with your kid. Small parts of cases. Nas Kamal being a bitch. Zapata being a bitch. Roman attacking Jane. Reade wearing a stupid bow tie. Patterson being drunk on a team night out…"

He waited, showing no sign that he considered the question answered.

_You telling Jane you love her. You fucking Jane. You making Jane so goddamn happy it makes me want to curl up into a ball and die._

She'd never admit to any of that, not even if he sat there and waited for the rest of the night.

"How much longer do you want me to go on, Weller? There are a million tiny moments that add up to a lot of cases at the FBI, the slow but total destruction of my life and everyone in it, and Jane having fun with you and your friends, when you weren't all giving her the cold shoulder."

Weller looked down at his plate at that last part, and Remi fought unexpected guilt. _I _want _him to feel bad. He and his team ruined my life._

"Does that satisfy your curiosity? Is it my turn now?"

He watched her for a long moment, then gestured with his fork. "Go ahead."

Remi ate another mouthful of pasta, mulling over her options. She could ask what had happened after Jane and Weller had lost Roman, but there was still a chance she might remember that on her own, since she'd already remembered seeing Kurt clinging to Roman's speedboat. If she had a limited amount of information she could pull out of Weller, it was better to use it on things she was less likely to recall.

And his comment about her keeping to the 'forsaking all others' part of her vows was really bugging her.

"Was Jane ever sexually assaulted? Did she have intimacy issues?"

Weller froze, as though the question was the last thing he'd ever expected her to ask. Then he slowly put down his fork. "Why do you ask?"

_Damn it._ She'd left herself open to that one. Luckily, she had a way to deflect. "You didn't answer my question."

Weller's jaw clenched, as though he was struggling to hold himself in check. After a moment, he said, "No. To my knowledge and belief, Jane never had to deal with that. And she was always open and enthusiastic in the bedroom. I never got any kind of trauma vibe from her in that sense."

_Damn it. I was so sure it was Jane. But if it's not Jane, then it's me. And that means—_

"Remi." Weller's focus on her was intense and unwavering. Her question had obviously unsettled him. "What made you ask me that?"

Remi eyed the exit with longing, wanting out of this conversation. But if she had to answer Weller, to keep him willing to share information about Roman, she could at least twist the knife a little.

When she looked back at him, though, and saw the pain he was trying to hide, she knew she couldn't insinuate she remembered Jane being attacked. As much as she hated the guy, even she had limits to her cruelty.

"Don't get your panties in a bunch," she snapped. "I didn't remember Jane being forced or anything."

The relief in his eyes was hard for her to face. Remi focused on her food, eating a couple of mouthfuls before Weller prompted, "Then why'd you ask?"

_Screw it. In a few hours he'll be gone from my life forever. And maybe he can see an angle to this that I can't. It's not like I have anyone else to talk to about this. Or about anything else._ "Because every time I decide to break that 'forsaking all others' vow that I didn't even make, I can't even get as far as kissing the guy. I figured that was because Jane went through something."

Weller didn't respond, and finally Remi grew impatient enough to tear her gaze from her plate. "What?"

He clearly thought he had the upper hand again, seeming more calm and collected than he had since they'd started eating. Just seeing that made a ball of rage swell in Remi's chest. _"What?"_ she demanded again.

"Since I'm assuming you had no extra time to look for men while you were plotting to free Shepherd, this must have started after you left New York."

His unspoken words pissed her off more than the ones he'd spoken: _You didn't have this problem when you fucked me._

It wasn't like she could deny it. She'd been the one to kiss him first, and to goad him into more.

"I answered your question because that was the agreement we made. Let's move on." She put down her fork, feeling too vulnerable for her appetite to return.

"Happy to. It's your turn to ask a question."

_Have _you_ been forsaking all others, Weller?_

But she didn't really want to know that. She didn't care. Jane's marriage to Weller was between them.

"I need to think about it." She pulled her napkin off her lap and stood up. "I'm going to the restroom."

"If you're running out on me, you might as well just admit it." He was tense, but his voice was deceptively relaxed. Anyone else might have been fooled.

"I don't break my word."

Weller leaned back in his chair. "I must be remembering things wrong, so refresh my memory. You didn't tell me you'd come back to the apartment with me, but then stick me with a needle full of sedative and drive off alone?"

"That was different. You assumed what you wanted to assume, and I didn't dissuade you from doing that. This time, we made a deal, and I'll stick to it."

His expression was sceptical as he waved her off, and a childish part of her wanted to do exactly what he expected her to do—slip out of the restaurant's back door instead of hitting the restroom. For a brief instant, with her hand on the bathroom door, she hesitated, looking at the emergency exit that was already propped open with a crate. It would be so easy to leave him behind again.

But he was the first person she'd seen in almost a year who actually knew something about her, and about Roman. She hated him, but being around him was almost…cathartic.

Growling under her breath, she shoved open the door to the ladies' room and stalked inside, happy to see that no one else was around.

So what the hell should she ask Weller when she got back to the table? Something else about Roman, but what? She didn't know exactly where the gaps in her memory were when it came to the FBI casefiles she'd read. The ZIP had been wreaking havoc on her brain by then, and she must have only retained half of what she'd read.

Maybe the ZIP had left some kind of residual brain damage, because now Kurt Weller knew she hadn't had sex since she'd fucked him, and that was the last thing she'd imagined telling him.

_Or maybe you wanted him to know. Maybe you want him to make a move on you, so you can see if you're too skittish to fuck him now. Because if you can fuck him, but not those other guys, it means you want him. Only him._

Remi scowled and banished that thought from her head. While she used the bathroom and freshened up, she tried to run through the details of what she remembered reading about Roman. There had to be something else she could ask that would make sticking around for the rest of the night worth it.

On her way to the door, Remi's eyes fell on the twin dispensers mounted on the wall—one for tampons, and the other for condoms. And why was she stopping? Why the fuck wasn't she just walking past?

She'd been taking Jane's birth control back when she'd been Remi, but since she'd been out of the States, she'd long since run out of pills. Not that it mattered, because no matter what happened, she was _not_ fucking Kurt Weller tonight. Under any circumstances. Because she hated him.

She _hated_ him.

_This? This isn't hate, Remi._

Just the memory of his words, delivered so antagonistically as she'd ridden his cock, made a shiver of remembered lust sweep through her. Before she could stop herself, she'd slotted coins into the dispenser—and now she was the very pissed off owner of a condom that would probably go out of date before she managed to find someone to use it with.

Because she wouldn't need it tonight.

Feeling as though the details of her purchase were branded on her forehead, she shoved the condom deep into her pocket, checking it didn't leave a raised, condom-shaped indentation in the fabric of her cargo pants. Then she left the restroom, ignoring the part of her that knew exactly how much she was lying to herself.

* * *

Kurt somehow managed to finish the last few bites of his lasagne, despite the anxiety that churned in his gut. If he was underestimating how lonely Remi had been over the past ten months, she was getting a hell of a head start on him back to the hotel, and he was just sitting here.

Even so, he stayed where he was. If she was that determined to renege on their deal, he wouldn't have a chance in hell persuading her to keep in touch with him after tonight.

After the waiter had taken away their plates, just as Kurt was beginning to think he'd gambled and lost, Remi returned to the table. She looked just as angry as—or maybe even angrier than—she had when she'd left.

Relief stole the tension from his limbs, though he made sure he didn't let her see how worried he'd been. "Welcome back."

Taking her seat, she glanced at the empty table and said, "Finished eating? Let's get going, then."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "You're that eager to skip dessert?"

The connotation wasn't lost on Remi, and though he hadn't thought it possible, she grew even tenser, her fingers curling into fists. "No, dear. Please, order some dessert and choke on it," she murmured for his ears only, her tone syrup-sweet.

Kurt took the dessert menu the waiter offered, amused when Remi fumbled her Jane impression in the process of refusing hers. She was more rattled than he'd expected, and the part of him that still grieved for Mayfair found more satisfaction than it should in that. Another part—the part that had realised how lonely and afraid she was underneath the anger—wanted to put her at ease somehow.

He ended up focusing on the menu, ordering the most chocolate-laden cake on the dessert list for himself and an espresso for Remi, without checking whether or not she wanted it. She was already bitter enough without the coffee, but he wanted her to have something to do with her hands besides drive her nails into her palms while she fantasised about killing him.

While they waited for their order, Kurt tried not to stare at the woman who had once been his wife. He'd missed Jane so much, and having her in front of him—in body, if not in spirit—was both a joy and a torment. He ached to hold her, and to have her embrace him in return, but there were still only occasional flashes of Jane in Remi's demeanour.

"You still don't have anything you want to ask me?" he said, after a couple of minutes of silence.

She shrugged. "Yes and no. I want as much information about Roman as I can get, but I don't know which parts of the file I've forgotten, and neither do you. I don't want to waste my questions on things I already know."

Though that was part of it, he sensed she was also guarding against personal questions, having already left herself open to his demands about why she'd assumed Jane had been sexually assaulted. Her answer had been given so grudgingly that he'd been sure it was the truth—and Remi actually being honest with him had thrown him off balance a little.

Her intimacy issues with other men, along with the fact that she still wore her wedding ring, gave him hope that he could still reach the Jane part of her. Maybe it was stupid to think that way, and he was only setting himself up for heartbreak once again, but he couldn't help himself.

The waiter brought over their dessert—at least the cake wasn't vegan, and had enough chocolate to recharge the reserves of his patience when it came to Remi. She scowled at her coffee, but didn't comment upon it, gazing into the steam rising from the small cup as though it held more answers than he did.

"Want me to ask some no-strings-attached questions about what you remember reading about Roman? Help you narrow down what you don't know?"

Remi gave him a suspicious look. "Why would you do that?"

He shrugged, cutting into the slice of cake with his spoon. "I can't ask you anything else unless you take your turn first."

That seemed to appeal to her sense of logic, though truthfully, he wanted to give her the details she was missing. Wanted to help her regain lost memories, not just because it would make her more inclined to stay in touch with him after tonight, but because he genuinely wanted to ease her pain.

God knew why that was. He shouldn't give a damn about what Remi was going through, not after everything she'd done to him. Maybe it was just because when he saw glimpses of her fear and loneliness, they looked identical to those emotions on Jane.

"You remember how Roman died, right?"

Genuine agony flared through her expression for a moment, before she smoothed it away. "Yeah. What I don't remember for myself, I read in the file."

He nodded, deciding not to push it. He hadn't been there when Roman had died, hadn't been the one to gently persuade Jane to let go of her brother's body and let the Cape Town authorities process the scene. He'd been unconscious, fighting for his life on an operating table after being shot in the stomach, but Reade had described the way he'd driven up to find Jane curled under a tree, holding Roman's lifeless body as though they'd been close friends over the past year, instead of bitter adversaries.

Maybe that was what had prompted Remi to resurface: the moments that Jane had grieved for her dead brother as intensely as Remi would have. Less than forty-eight hours later, Jane had collapsed in their apartment, and when she'd woken up, she'd been Remi again.

Strange to think that the last time he'd really seen his wife was in the moments before she'd lost consciousness, standing at the edge of their living room, around fourteen months ago.

He shook off the melancholy thought and focused on the task he'd set himself, working backwards through the timeline of the second set of tattoo cases. Remi's focus sharpened as he asked her if she remembered the hits Roman had put out simultaneously on the entire team.

"No, I don't remember that. You said a hitman for each of us? And none of them actually managed to get the job done? Who the hell did he hire, a bunch of kindergarteners?" She actually looked amused, reminding him how ruthless Remi was compared to Jane.

Kurt recounted what he could remember of each assassin, and how the team had individually managed to thwart them. "He wanted you to know we were all dead before the assassin who had you finished the job."

Remi snorted. "Bullshit. He was waiting for Jane to get free. It's pretty obvious from what I remember that he could never actually kill her. Not even when he thought he wanted to."

"Maybe you're right. But we didn't know that at the time—and they did come pretty damn close to killing us all."

The edge to his tone seemed to make her remember who she was talking to, and the amused nostalgia faded from her face, her guard rising again.

"I guess this means it's your turn to ask a question."

He sighed, looking down at the empty plate where his cake had been. Despite the chilling turn the conversation had taken, Remi could be just as easy to talk to as Jane was, if she allowed him past her defences. He'd barely noticed when he'd taken the last bite.

"I need a few minutes to decide what I want to ask." And as much as he hated to leave her side, with nothing more than her word that she'd still be there when he returned, his bladder had other ideas. "Give me enough time to find the restroom and then settle the bill. Then we can get out of here."

She nodded, then rolled her eyes when he hesitated. "If I didn't run out on you earlier, why would I do it now?"

"I don't take anything for granted when it comes to you," he told her, and got up from the table.

As he washed his hands after leaving the urinal, his gaze fell on the condom dispenser reflected in the mirror. When he and Remi had fucked last year, they hadn't used a condom, since he'd seen Remi faithfully taking Jane's birth control pills every morning. But there was no guarantee that she had access to oral contraception these days.

_Why the hell are you even thinking about that?_ Part of him had never stopped blaming himself for sleeping with the enemy, and that same part was incensed at where his mind was straying.

Would he sleep with Remi again to stop her from walking out of his life and slamming the door behind her?

_Fuck, yes._

_Fuck, no! It didn't help last time, and it won't help now. She's a goddamn terrorist. She has nothing but contempt for you. She's going to run the second the clock strikes midnight, and you're an idiot if you think you can bring Jane back to you by fucking Remi out of her._

Despite his inner monologue, he found himself sorting through the unfamiliar coins in his pocket, cursing his conflicted desires as he found the right one and purchased a condom. Briefly, he considered buying a second, but realism stopped him in his tracks. Even if Remi did allow him to postpone her departure with sex, she'd never stick around for round two.


	5. Shattered Hopes

**Author's Note: **Sorry, guys - I think I broke Kurt a little bit in this chapter, by getting his hopes up and then slamming him back down into the dirt. You can hate me if you want!

* * *

"I've been thinking about what you said, the last time we spent time together."

Remi was tense as hell, but she'd been unable to refuse Weller's request to hold her hand as they walked. _Unable? Or unwilling?_ Either way, now they were strolling along like they were in love, and she fucking hated it.

She made herself focus on his words instead of the curve of his fingers around hers, the warmth of his skin or the surge of gratification it gave her to be in close contact with someone after all this time. "I said a lot of things back then. You're gonna have to narrow it down."

Weller watched a passing gondola, and Remi shuddered to think what would happen if he made her get on one with him. The romantic restaurant had been her limit—if he wanted to take a gondola ride, she was shoving him into the canal and taking off.

Maybe he knew that, or maybe he and Jane hadn't thought a gondola ride was worth the extortionate fee the gondoliers charged for them, because he said nothing about taking a trip on one. Focusing on Remi again, he said, "You said you weren't screwing around with my life because you were some wicked witch, out to do evil. I've thought about that a lot, since then."

That was actually a surprise—one that touched her more than she wanted to admit. "And what did you think about it?" She kept her voice unimpressed.

He took a breath before continuing, his face impossible to read. Then he said, "I ended up with a question."

"Well, it's your turn." Why did she feel so nervous all of a sudden? "Go ahead."

Weller didn't look at her as he spoke, his hand dropping from hers. "If you could go back, now that you've spent time with me—gotten to actually know me, instead of stalking me from afar and stealing my childhood photos—would you still pretend to be Taylor Shaw as part of your plan? Still tear open the wounds from my childhood and manipulate me as part of Phase Two? Still stand by while your brother murdered Emma Shaw on Shepherd's orders?"

Remi swallowed, a memory hitting her hard. _I let my father back into my life, into my home. I let him be around Sawyer. He killed her, and I let him back in—because of _you_. So turn around, get on your knees, and put your hands behind your head. I'm not gonna say it again._

The ice in his eyes, in his voice—she felt Jane's agony, Jane's guilt, but also her own, as Remi. She'd caused him that pain, by conspiring to make Jane believe she was Taylor. It was partly Jane's fault, for lying to him about her memories, but mostly Remi's. She'd switched her DNA in for Taylor's, had his name tattooed on her back, had told Oscar to tell Jane that she was Taylor, then had chosen to forget it all—including the vague sense of unease she'd had.

She'd known that this was a very fucked-up thing to do, but forgetting about it had all been part of the plan. And when she'd woken up as herself again, years later, she'd been reeling with rage and pain at the disastrous results of her mission, blaming Weller and his people for everything that had gone wrong. She'd felt no guilt for the part she'd played in raising and destroying his hopes about Taylor—not until after she'd left him behind, and some memories had begun to return.

There was ice back in his voice as he spoke now. Her silence had only made him colder, harsher. "Answer me, Remi."

She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to run—from him, and from her own shame.

Instead, she spoke through gritted teeth. "It wasn't personal. I didn't choose you as a target because I had a vendetta against you. You were just part of Shepherd's plan, and when I decided to become Taylor, it wasn't because I wanted to hurt you."

He laughed humourlessly. "It wasn't personal? For you, that might have been true. But for me? It couldn't have been any _more_ personal. And you didn't answer my question."

His anger and grief…they surrounded her, choked her. These weren't Jane's remembered feelings anymore, but her own. Kurt Weller was a good man—far too good for Remi. During the months she'd been pretending to be Jane, she'd come to admire him as much as she'd loathed what he'd done to her life.

His opinion of her had come to matter, far more than she was comfortable with. Right now, she felt as though her guilt for everything she'd put him through was a living being, seething and coiling through her stomach. She'd already remembered the joy in his face when Jane had lied to him about memories of their childhood. Remembered his devastation when he'd realised Emma Shaw had been murdered because of her connection to him.

Remi owed him an apology, as much as it rankled to have to give it. He'd been Shepherd's pick to help lead her new government after Phase Two, and that made him one of the good guys, as much as he would hate the logic that made her categorise him that way. And she'd hurt him immeasurably. If she'd been in his shoes, she'd be trying to get as far away from herself as possible, never mind that Jane was supposedly still somewhere inside her.

She turned to face him, meeting the harshness of his gaze. "If I could go back, knowing what I know now, I would never have done any of this to begin with."

Though he didn't speak, his irritation was plain, and she knew she was stalling. _Just say it, Briggs. _"Fine. No. I wouldn't have pretended to be Taylor if I'd known you better. I don't expect it to mean anything to you, but I do regret what I put you through. I thought it was important at the time, but in hindsight, it was unnecessary and cruel."

Weller froze, staring at her as though she'd grown tentacles. She hadn't seen him looking so completely stunned since she'd shoved him up against the wall and kissed him in the cabin safehouse.

Mortification flooded her system, her face growing hot, and she stalked ahead of him, unable to bear his startled expression—or her own shame.

_There. You apologised. Or as close to it as you're ever gonna get. That's all you can do. And if he wants to talk about it some more, he can talk to his damn self, because I'm not saying another word on the subject._

It took a few minutes for her to calm the fuck down, and she sensed that Weller was steadily following along behind, never taking his eyes off her while she kept her distance.

Ugh—she was acting like a goddamn infant, avoiding the problem instead of confronting it. The problem, in this case, being Weller, and her agreement to spend the rest of the evening with him.

It was coming up on eight o'clock. Four more hours, and she could leave forever—but until then, she had to uphold her part of the deal.

She sat down by a small fountain, and waited for him to catch up. She had no idea what he would say to her, but couldn't think of a single possibility that wouldn't make her want to bruise his face.

Weller sat down quietly, and for a couple of minutes, the silence was oppressive. But she knew this trick—people with guilty consciences felt the need to fill silences. She wasn't going to fall into it. If he thought he could use interrogation tactics to prolong her humiliation, he was very, very wrong.

Even if this endless silence was like a wild animal chewing on her brain.

Finally, he ended the torment. "What you said… It means a lot. I appreciate it."

"I didn't say it for your appreciation. I said it because it was true."

There was a ghost of a smile on his face now, and she swallowed a wordless snarl of annoyance. He probably thought he knew what was going on in her head. He probably thought she was on her way back to becoming Jane.

He was so wrong.

"Noted," he said. "And it's your turn to ask a question."

* * *

She was ashamed of herself, of what she'd done.

She'd been a hair's breadth from _apologising_.

That was more remorse than he'd ever dreamed he'd see from Remi Briggs. Every time he thought he was starting to know her—the person she'd been before she'd ever heard of ZIP—she shifted ever so slightly, the lines between Remi's harshness and Jane's softness and empathy blurring further.

He remembered a conversation he'd had with Jane once, not long after they'd brought down Sandstorm.

"_You okay?"_

_She looked up from the spot on the rug she'd been gazing at, her slight frown melting away. "Yeah, sorry. I was just remembering some stuff. Thinking about Remi."_

_Kurt sat down beside her, taking her hand. "Feeling guilty?"_

"_More like confused." She shot him an apologetic glance. "When I was working with Oscar, I asked him what I was like, before the ZIP. He told me I was stubborn, which sounds like Remi, but also compassionate, loyal and patient."_

_The mention of Oscar stung, but he ignored the flash of hurt. Oscar was dead. "All of that sounds like you. Well, sometimes the patience is a bit of a stretch," he amended, teasing a smile from her._

"_I just…none of the memories I have of Remi—at least, the Remi Oscar would have known—make me think she was all that compassionate. To the people she liked, maybe. But maybe she seemed compassionate to Oscar because that was what she wanted him to see. The same as with Jeffrey Kantor. Roman said Kantor was in love with Remi, but I doubt she felt anything but contempt for him. He was just useful. Like you were useful enough to her that she made us believe I was Taylor."_

_Kurt put his arm around her, sighing. "It's possible. But it's also possible that you don't remember the times when Remi really was compassionate. No one is all good or all bad, right? That's what makes catching criminals so hard."_

_Jane nodded slowly. "I just…don't understand her. Some things, I do. She was so angry, and she had good reasons to be that way, but she turned it all outwards. She found people to blame and she made them pay, whether they deserved it or not."_

"_She went through hell in that orphanage. We know that from your memories, and the way Roman talked about his. And I can't even imagine what it was like growing up with Shepherd. I must have spent less than three hours with her, between military school and this case, and she managed to twist _my_ brain up. God knows what she did to Remi and Roman."_

_Jane nodded slowly. "I know. But it always surprises me how different I turned out from Remi, just from not having any memories, and from the way you and the team took me in. I just don't know why Oscar didn't seem to see how different we were. Just after we met, while I was trying to get answers from him, he all of a sudden started smiling. And when I asked him why, he said he was happy that I was still me."_

"_Maybe you handle being kept in the dark about things the same way Remi did."_

"_Yeah. Maybe." She shrugged and leaned into his side. "Let's change the subject."_

Remembering that conversation now, Kurt could almost sympathise with Oscar. Not that he'd ever forgive the man he'd never met for Mayfair's disgrace, or her death. But he and Oscar had both looked at the same woman and seen the person they'd fallen in love with replaced by someone else, someone similar in certain ways, but far from the same.

Only it seemed that Remi was more similar to Jane than Kurt, or even Jane, had suspected.

By admitting that she regretted what she'd done to him, Remi had just revealed her compassionate side, and he'd seen it before. She'd been unable to poison him with the syringe she'd prepared for exactly that purpose. She'd walked away from him twice without killing him, after her cover was blown and he'd known she wasn't the Jane he'd fallen in love with. He'd been of no further use to her, and she'd still let him live. She could have killed their whole team during the past ten months, with a sniper rifle, poisoned food, car bombs… But she hadn't, leaving the loose end untied.

Remi's judgments and biases were different to Jane's, ingrained over a lifetime of experiences, including years absorbing Shepherd's manipulations. The way she reacted to uncomfortable emotions differed, too—Remi lashed out, whereas Jane internalised the hurt and blamed herself.

But under Remi's anger and bitterness was Jane—a woman who took action, who stood by her convictions, who swiftly re-evaluated and adapted based on the situation she found herself in. A survivor, who loathed injustice and longed for a fairer, less corrupt world.

Beneath the surface, there was a lot to like about Remi Briggs, though her ruthlessness and differing viewpoints made him wary. Jane had seen things Kurt's way—maybe she hadn't had a choice in that, since she'd had no memories to influence her in a different direction. Remi was a wild card, her opinions often surprising him—for example, her assertion that the FBI were no better than terrorists.

He slowly approached Remi, who'd finally stopped walking like she was late for the most important job interview in the world. She was sitting by a fountain, waiting for his approach with the same simmering hostility that he'd come to expect from most of his interactions with her.

Sitting close enough to reach out to Remi, but not close enough to brush up against her, he tried to come up with some way to communicate how much her words meant to him. She'd classified her own actions as cruel and admitted to regretting them—that was significant.

He still resented the hell out of her, but knowing her conscience was bugging her made him wonder exactly what kind of relationship they could have if they ever stopped being angry with each other. Even if he never got Jane back.

_No. She was on board with Shepherd's plan. She considered the deaths of millions of innocent people an acceptable price to pay for a fairer government. Even if I can one day forgive her for pretending to be Taylor, for the way she plotted to frame Mayfair, I can never forgive her for that._

Still, her almost-apology deserved acknowledgment.

"What you said… It means a lot. I appreciate it."

Remi's scowl deepened. "I didn't say it for your appreciation. I said it because it was true."

Now that he'd noticed her anger hid a fear of emotional intimacy rather than actual hatred, he could almost find it amusing. Maybe he enjoyed her discomfort a little too much, but after everything she'd done, her suffering through an apology was the least she owed him.

"Noted," he said, and relented, allowing her the opportunity to move on from the subject. "And it's your turn to ask a question."

He sensed her considering her options, and wondered if she'd try to wound him with her response. That seemed to be Remi's MO.

"I assume the rest of your team know now that I'm not Jane anymore?"

_Interesting_. She'd clearly gone for the first question she thought of, a quick change of subject rather than a slower wind-up to a vicious blow.

Not that he was under any illusions that he could relax just yet.

"Yeah. Patterson and Rich found me passed out from your sedative, so I had no other choice. The rest of the FBI thinks that you're travelling the world now that you're cured of the poisoning, and I'm still working so that we can afford it."

Remi snorted. "Well, if you want to pay my travel bills…"

"If it gave me a way to track you, I might consider it," he said pointedly.

"You already agreed you were gonna let that go after tonight," Remi snapped back.

"Still hoping you'll change your mind. You can't deny that being around me brings back memories you've lost." _But if she doesn't change her mind… _He pushed away the anxious thought.

"Memories of Roman, Shepherd and Oscar are the only Jane memories I'm interested in." Remi shook her head. "The rest, I don't want."

"Do you remember asking Oscar what you were like before the ZIP?" He didn't know all that much about Jane's time with Oscar. He hadn't wanted to ask, and Jane hadn't wanted to hurt him by making him think about Mayfair's murderer. But if it would keep Remi in contact with him after tonight, he'd let her assume he knew more than he did.

He'd always been able to tell when Jane was remembering something—a lack of focus and sudden stillness coinciding in just the right way—and that hadn't changed with Remi. His words had obviously sparked something.

"No," she said firmly.

They both knew he could call bullshit on that, but neither of them said anything

"And that wasn't me using up my turn, by the way," he added. "I was just using a question to make my point."

She sighed. "Well, if it's still your turn, you might as well use it."

"Where have you been over the past ten months?" He knew it was an exercise in futility to ask her to give away information he could use to track her, but she might slip without realising it.

"Really? You must think I'm an idiot," she said, getting to her feet. "Let's keep walking while I die of boredom."

They resumed their steady pace, Kurt taking her hand again—not only because he knew she'd appreciate the skin-to-skin contact, but because he knew it would piss her off. "I'm not asking for coordinates, Remi. Or even cities."

He sensed her scanning through the response she was about to give, checking it carefully and discarding the parts that would reveal more than she'd like. "I remembered Jane had done some K and R work during her time running from the bounty hunters. It seemed like a good way to make some cash while I considered my options, so that's what I've been doing. In a few different countries."

Despite himself, Kurt couldn't help but grow tense at the mention of kidnap and ransom work. Remi's recent absence and Jane's time on the run had ended up too similar for his comfort. He couldn't help but think back to Jane's one-night stand with Clem Hahn. If he ran into Remi, would he attempt to renew their relationship? Would Remi encourage it? Would she have the same hesitance about sex with someone else Jane had already slept with?

"Come into contact with anyone Jane knew?" he asked, as nonchalantly as he could.

Remi was too perceptive to be fooled by his act. She shot him a sidelong glance, scoping out his angle. "Not that I confirmed. There was one guy who looked like he recognised me, but I wasn't quick enough with my Jane face once I realised, and he decided not to come over."

Kurt gritted his teeth against the urge to ask for a description, focusing on skirting around a group of tourists in their path. They had to drop into single file to get past them, and before Remi caught up again, she gave a short, derisive laugh.

"_Oh._"

Kurt swallowed a groan. It wasn't bad enough that Remi was Remi—she had to have remembered Jane's dalliance with Hahn, too?

Remi's face held an expression of subtle contempt as she drew level with him again. "All this pining after your wonderful, saintly Jane Doe, and she couldn't even get two years into your marriage without cheating on you? Fuck, Weller, I knew you were whipped, but that goes beyond what I expected from you."

"Shut up," he said, fighting the rising tension that would lead to him losing his temper.

"Or what? I'd rather you threw a punch than held my hand." There was a glint in her eye that told him she was planning to press on his emotional weak spot for all she was worth. "In case you're wondering, he had a bigger dick, but your technique is way better, so don't feel too bad."

Kurt balled his hands into fists at his sides, reminding himself that she was trying to put distance between them on purpose. It didn't do much to improve his composure. "Are you done?"

"Am I done wondering where your self-respect went? Not even close. The guy I surveilled before the ZIP would never have taken a cheater back." Remi shook her head in mocking disappointment.

"Do you even remember the circumstances? She left her wedding ring behind when she went on the run."

"So she knew she'd probably want to fuck someone else before she even left home? Damn, Weller, you'd been married what, a month? Two?"

That possibility had preyed on his mind a little while he and Jane had been apart—not that she'd wanted to find someone else, but that she'd wanted out of their marriage, and the bounty hunt had been an excuse for her to run. When she'd admitted that she'd been with Hahn, that insecurity had briefly worsened, to become a fear of exactly what Remi was insinuating.

He stared at the woman wearing his wife's face, wondering how she could have been on the verge of apologising for her cruelty less than thirty minutes ago, but now be enjoying his suffering anew. Remi Briggs made no sense, and he was done trying to understand her.

He was delusional. He needed to give up on this whole insane hope that he'd ever get Jane back. All he was doing was giving Remi new openings to tear him apart, and letting her ruin his memories of the places he'd visited with Jane.

"You know what? I'm done torturing myself." He stepped back. "Our arrangement is concluded. We can go our separate ways and never meet again. Enjoy your life, Remi."

His fury at her behaviour kept his grief from overwhelming him, but the heaviness in his chest was almost crushing as he turned and walked away.

_I'm sorry, Jane. I'll always love you. Goodbye._


	6. Directionless

**Author's Note:** I wanted to get Remi's post-mortem of what just happened up fairly quickly, since every reaction to the last chapter was basically 'what did you do?!' I've even had a couple of people concerned that their relationship can't really come back from this. This is mostly introspection, but I think it's important to get inside Remi's brain at this point, since she was just such a bitch. I hope it gives people a little bit more faith in Reller's future, even if it doesn't yet fix anything. (Oh, and no - apologising definitely won't be enough.)

* * *

Paralysed by shock, Remi silently watched Weller walk away, his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. He was giving up on getting his wife back, leaving her alone for good. It was everything she'd been hoping for.

Only as he put her behind him, metaphorically and literally, all she could feel was despair.

_No. Fuck, no, he can't give up on me now. He's the only one who…who…_

As she lost sight of him in a crowd of revellers, she lost the ability to think coherently, her wounded psyche producing nothing but wordless anguish.

The laughter and chatter of some passers-by jolted her back in control of her body and mind. Feeling exposed and raw, she whirled in the opposite direction, wrapping her arms around her waist as she walked. She had no destination in mind; all she knew was that she had to get away from the place where Weller had abandoned her.

When she registered her surroundings again, she was standing in front of the Chiesetta dell'Abbazia della Misericordia, the small deconsecrated church in the _sestiere_ Cannaregio. It was locked up tight—not that she was the praying type, even if the church had still been consecrated, but a moment of silence and stillness would have been welcome. The cherubs above the doorway seemed to have mocking smiles, and the statues to either side of the door looked sinister in the gathering twilight. Remi turned her back on the church façade, unnerved, and gazed out over the canal.

A bolt of memory hit her.

_She and Weller pushed open bullet-peppered doors to reveal this same view, brightly lit in the afternoon sun, then walked side by side out into the courtyard. He was clutching his ribs, and she touched her painful jaw before shaking the ache out of her right wrist. Remi knew that behind them were the bodies of the men that had contributed to the misery of the past eighteen months, and an abandoned duffel bag they no longer needed._

_As she glanced over at Weller in the memory, she realised he was already watching her, and a distant surge of remembered elation hit Remi's system. For the first time in over a year, she was getting to see that smile she adored, and she returned it, stunned to be once more free to pursue her own life._

Only none of that had been Remi's life. It had all been _Jane_. Perfect, precious Jane, who wasn't quite as perfect as everyone seemed to think she was. Remi was still reeling from the realisation that Jane had cheated on her husband, and not only that, but Weller had taken her back afterwards. Was there nothing the bitch could do that he wouldn't forgive her for?

_Revert to her former persona and give him hell about it?_

Remi sat on the edge of the old well in front of the church, the thought draining the last reserves of her nervous energy.

She was truly alone now, for the first time in her life. Even over these past ten months, as she'd carefully kept herself under the radar so that Weller couldn't track her, she'd been secure in the knowledge that he was looking, that he'd never give up on the futile hope of getting his wife back. And earlier today, when she'd seen him standing in St Mark's Square, she'd been surprised, but not shocked. It had made perfect sense to find him there, because he'd loved Jane so completely.

Strange, how it had only taken a couple of hours in her company to make him finally see that Jane didn't live here—inside Remi's brain—anymore. She would have assumed he'd keep hanging on forever, no matter how many times Remi hit him with the truth.

Was he bluffing? Was he trying to get her to think he was leaving, when he actually planned to tail her back to wherever she ended up next? Had he put another bug on her?

The thought made her quickly check her pockets and the fabric of her clothing, but all she found was the damn condom she'd bought. Her jaw clenched so hard that it ached. How could she have been so stupid as to get her hopes up that they'd end up in bed together? They hated each other, and the last time they'd fucked had been inspired by post-combat adrenaline and his desperation not to have her walk out of his life.

God, the stricken look on Weller's face as he'd told her to enjoy her life… He wasn't bluffing. She was never going to see him again, unless she was the one who sought him out.

_Hell will freeze over first._

But how had this happened? Surely Remi wasn't so repugnant to him that he couldn't have endured four more hours of her company, for Jane's sake? It would have been six hours, in total. Less than a hard day at work.

Fuck him. She didn't need him. She had places to be and things to do, and now that she had an answer to the puzzle of why July tenth was important to Jane, she didn't need to be in Venice anymore. She should just go back to the hotel, grab her stuff and take a train south, maybe see if there were any K and R jobs available in Rome.

She was about to shut down her brain and get going, employing the same coping strategy she had her entire life—it can't hurt you if you don't acknowledge it's there—when her imagination kicked in. She thought of Weller, back at the hotel they were both staying in, packing up his own gear and preparing to head back to the States. Would he go right away, or would he stay the night in Venice first? Drown himself in drink and mourn his lost Jane, the way he'd planned to before Remi showed up?

For some reason, the idea made her heart sink.

_What the fuck? Why do you care? It's not like he gives a damn about you. It's all about Jane._

Yet there'd been some moments when Remi had almost believed he really did like her, or at least respect her. And it wasn't as though she hadn't provoked him before he'd run off.

_Doesn't matter. He's not a part of your life. He was a means to an end, even if the end wasn't the one you expected. Put him behind you. Move the hell on._

"I can't," she whispered aloud, dropping her head into her hands. "Fuck."

She was emotionally tethered to a man she couldn't stand, because he was the only one who knew her. Shepherd and Nigel might as well be dead, for all the access she had to them now. Cade and Markos had betrayed the cause—Markos now dead, and Cade languishing in a black site. Cade had killed Danny. Roman was gone. And Oscar…

Another flare of anger warmed her blood as she thought about Oscar again. How dare Weller even speak his name? He'd been so out of line. And that memory his words had brought, of Oscar gently teasing and flirting with Jane, slow-dancing with her to one of 'their' songs… Jane had even got her hooks into Oscar. At least he'd been strong enough to put the mission first. He'd made Jane kill him, in the end.

Thinking of Oscar made her remember the words she'd spoken to him just before her memory wipe. Her final farewell.

_I love you. You know where I come from, how I grew up. I never thought any of this would be possible for me._

The same could be said of Weller. Now that Roman and Oscar were gone, and Shepherd might as well be, Weller was the only one who knew her. What she'd been through. What made her tick.

Remi didn't love him, but Jane had said practically the same thing to Weller, on her wedding video, as Remi had said to Oscar: _I never thought that this would happen for me._

When she'd first realised Jane had killed Oscar, Remi's instinct had been to kill the love of Jane's life, the way Jane had murdered hers. If she hadn't been so desperate to salvage what was left of the mission, maybe she would have done it that same day—gone to the hospital and fucked up Weller's life support. It would have been ridiculous—since the idea of Jane just reasserting herself to find Weller dead would mean Remi would never get to enjoy Jane's grief—but that had been her knee-jerk instinct, nevertheless.

Slowly, over time, the urge to kill Weller had become the need to protect him. Remi had spent too much time as Jane, nursing him back to health, cuddling up to him, laughing and joking with him, occupying her role as Jane twenty-four hours a day. She'd grown attached to him—not in the same way that Jane had, but she'd still been emotionally reliant on him.

She hadn't realised just how hard the past ten months had been until Weller had taken her hand in St. Mark's Square. When her skin had touched his, it had been like her brain had stopped holding its breath. Sure, she didn't like Weller, but it had made sense that he'd try to touch her, given that he saw Jane in her.

Who else in the world would even think to try to reach out? She couldn't even have a one-night stand these days without falling at the first hurdle. No one was ever going to touch her again. She didn't trust anyone enough to make new acquaintances, let alone friends or lovers.

Now that she was cut off from Weller, she had no one left to orient her in the world. She felt like a compass needle spinning endlessly, unable to find north.

Who was Remi Briggs? Where was she going? What was her aim in life?

Cut adrift from Weller, she had to face the fact that she wasn't just biding her time until the FBI's scrutiny faded. She was just drifting, letting the current carry her wherever it wished, because she'd never find Shepherd now. She didn't even know where she'd start looking.

She had no way to channel her anger into a goal, no way to feel like she was accomplishing things towards her long-term plan. Nobody to share news of her successes with, or to complain about her failures. Her life was pointless, meaningless.

Without the reassuring thought that at least Weller cared what happened to what he thought of as Jane's body, Remi didn't even feel like she existed.

Now she did get to her feet, fighting off panic as she began to walk back in the direction she'd come. She couldn't live like this. Better to have someone she hated but trusted in her life, than no one at all.

She had to change his mind, make him care again, but how? She'd already pushed him too far.

All of her insecurity about her past decisions, and her pain at remembering Oscar with Jane, had overwhelmed her—until she'd remembered Jane fucking some other guy. She'd clutched at that like it was a life preserver on a stormy sea. Perfect Jane wasn't perfect, and now Remi could make sure Weller remembered that, too. He'd hurt her? Well, then, Remi would hurt him right back.

She hadn't foreseen how successful her barbed words would be at tearing him open. She hadn't known—until the agony had flared in his eyes, and Remi had remembered his hesitance to do more than hug Jane for weeks after they'd reconciled—that he couldn't endure any more.

_But you wanted to hurt him._

_He hurt me first._

_He had a right to be angry about the Taylor thing._

_And I have a right to be angry about him and Jane swinging a wrecking ball at my life._

_You did it to him first._

_That's not the point._

Except that it was the point. Their angry back-and-forth, the blame and resentment, could all be traced back to Remi exhuming Taylor Shaw from a twenty-five-year-old grave. Not that she'd known Taylor's fate at the time, but neither had she cared.

_Really, you're gonna start blaming yourself now? How very _Jane_ of you._

Remi growled under her breath, wrapping her arms more tightly around herself. She wasn't Jane, but she couldn't retreat back into delusions once she realised they _were_ delusions. It sometimes took her a while to realise them—like when Weller had pointed out that she hated him because he reminded her of what a failure she'd been, how weak she'd become without her memories. But once she did see the truth, she didn't turn her back on it. Ever.

She was the one who'd made Weller retreat. His departure hadn't been abandonment—it had been self-preservation, an escape. And since she needed him—_god, I hate that I need him_—she was going to have to fix this.

She didn't know how to do it, but she did know where he was right now—the hotel where he and Jane had stayed when he'd proposed to her. The same one Remi's subconscious had chosen when she'd planned her own trip, as much as she hadn't wanted to admit it to Weller. She'd get his room number from the front desk, ask him if they could talk, then apologise.

_It won't be enough. This hasn't just been building up over the last few hours; it's been over the last ten months. You know he's been driving himself crazy searching for you, and when he found you, he remembered exactly why he can't stand you. You reminded him that Jane's dead, and he couldn't take it. Apologising won't help you now._

She brushed her hair out of her eyes and increased her pace, determinedly charting her course back over the familiar city. _It's all I have to give._


	7. An Unstable Truce

**Author's Note: **I'm not 100% sure about Remi in this chapter, but I'm hoping this isn't terrible. :/ Let me know if you have thoughts, either way!

* * *

His backpack was ready, on the floor next to the door. His passport and wallet were stacked together on the nightstand. He'd showered away every possible remnant of his physical contact with Remi Briggs, too devastated even to cry.

Kurt was ready to put this chapter of his life behind him—so why was he just lying here on the bed, flicking through the same old photos of Jane on his phone, in a state of hollow longing?

Maybe because at least right now, he could try to fool himself that he was still in the same city as Jane. He was pretty sure Remi would be avoiding both New York and Denver in the future, so this would be the last time he was within a few miles of his wife.

_Severing ties is the right thing to do. Remi has probably got as many memories of Jane as Jane had of Remi, and now the ZIP is gone, there's nothing in her brain that might make her switch back to the woman I loved. Remi was right._

_Jane is dead._

He dropped his phone to the bed beside him and covered his face with his hands, battling another wave of loss. The ten-month-long denial part of the five stages of grief was over now, and he was stuck between anger and depression, swinging between the two with a frequency and force that made it hard to breathe at times.

How was he supposed to go on without Jane, knowing that he couldn't even bury his wife unless he buried Remi with her?

_Not a bad idea_, the furious part of his mind told him.

But he could never kill someone with his wife's face, not even someone as poisonous as Remi.

Part of him was even convinced that he'd made a mistake, though he knew he was just making things worse for himself by hanging onto hope. After all, if he'd gritted his teeth and endured Remi's company for another four hours, she would only have tainted his memories of Jane even more, then walked away without a backward glance at the end of it all. That had been the agreement they'd made.

Was she here in the hotel right now, packing to leave? Was she out drinking, or seeing the sights of Venice by night? Maybe she'd already left, and was on the way to the airport, to board a flight heading god-knew-where.

He didn't care. Trying to connect with Remi had gotten him nowhere. He had to move on.

Was he gonna spend the rest of his goddamn life wondering if he could have won her over, during these four hours he'd declined to spend with her? Because that was pointless. He already knew the answer was no.

_Jane… I miss you so much._

Right now, he needed good friends around him. He'd take a longer flight out to Denver instead of going straight home—surprise his daughter, and get a dose of much-needed reality from Allie and Connor. There was nothing left for him in Venice. Even his memories with Jane were tainted now.

He sat up slowly, then reached for the socks and shoes he'd left by the side of the bed.

A familiar knock made his heart skip, then sink into his stomach. _Jane? No—Remi._

He had nothing left to say to her, even if her decision to approach him was a surprise. His jaw clenched, he waited in silence for her to leave.

"Open the door, Weller, or I swear to god, I'll kick it down!"

He groaned under his breath, knowing she wasn't bluffing. It seemed that life—via Remi—was planning to laugh at him a little more before he got a respite.

He crossed to the door and opened it, blocking the way into the room to keep her out in the hallway. "What do you want, Remi?"

She was still radiating wariness and anger, but there was a vulnerability in her face that he hadn't seen since…since _Jane_. "Can we talk?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to agree, but then he remembered he'd thought they were making progress before, just minutes before she'd weaponised Jane's infidelity against him. If he let her in, he'd just be exposing himself to more hurt. "I have nothing left to say to you."

"Look, Weller… I'm sorry." She flung the simple apology at him like it meant something. Considering her aversion to using the phrase when they'd been talking about Taylor, maybe it really _did_ mean something to her.

That raised two questions: firstly, did he care if she regretted her words? And secondly, what did she want from him that warranted a genuine apology?

To answer the second question, he'd have to let her into the room, which means he had to weigh up the risks and possible rewards of doing so. His heart told him this could be a breakthrough in his relationship with Remi, but his mind was much less convinced.

But even as he opened his mouth to turn her away, he knew that he'd spend the rest of his life wondering what she'd wanted, if he didn't hear her out. "Just because I'm letting you in doesn't mean the apology means a damn thing to me," he said, stepping back to let her enter.

She nodded, uncharacteristically meek, and stepped past him into the room. He closed the door behind her and leaned against it, his arms folded. "You have five minutes to convince me not to throw you out. Start talking."

* * *

Remi floundered, his cold impatience and the pressure of his gaze making her defences sprout defences. She realised she was mentally reaching for a weapon, wanting to hurt him the way she hurt, and had to dig her fingernails into her palms to stop herself.

"I'm not trying to play you, here," she began, careful to keep her voice level and calm.

_You could play him. You could pretend to be…not Jane, but Jane-ier. You could use that to worm your way back into his life, and then…_

_He's smarter than you think, and he won't let you walk all over him. He's already left you behind once. If he smells bullshit here, he'll just take it as evidence that he was right to do that. You have one chance. Don't fuck it up._

"Four minutes and thirty seconds."

"This isn't easy for me, Weller," she snapped, her temper fraying, despite her best intentions.

"You think it's easy for me to be around you?" he countered. "Every time I try to give you the benefit of the doubt, you make me regret it. I'm sick of it."

"I don't do that because it's fun." God, where was she going with this? She couldn't open up that far. Not to him; not to anyone.

"I know. You do it because you can't handle feeling bad about yourself, and hurting other people makes you feel more in control. But that doesn't mean I have to stand here and take it."

Remi recoiled, physically and mentally. "You think you know me?" _How the fuck can he read me like this?_

"More than you think." One corner of his mouth lifted in a sardonic smile.

"Yeah? In that case, why don't you save us both some trouble and tell me why I'm here?"

He gave a subtle shake of his head, his expression hard. "Less than four minutes now."

_Let him into your head, and he'll use what he knows against you. Maybe not now, but somewhere down the line. If he knows your weak spots, he has power over you._ That thought seemed as though it came straight from Shepherd.

_He already has power over me. That's why I'm here right now. Because he means too much to me._

_Letting him know that would be a bad move. He's FBI. A government conformist. He has a tiny little box for everything, and you don't fit any of them. You know what happens to people who don't assimilate. When you don't meet his expectations, he will exploit your weakness and make you pay._

_Part of him still looks at me and sees Jane. That's enough to control him._

_You thought he'd never be able to walk away from the possibility of getting her back, and you were wrong._

Remi froze, caught between two opposing, equally powerful fears. The need to be connected to him kept her rooted to the spot, but her long-ingrained habit of shutting people out made her mute, unable to summon words. Frustrated, she fumbled for a verbal way out of the situation, but her mind raced too fast for her to pin anything down. Anxiety churned in her gut.

"You okay?" Despite the sigh that accompanied his words, there was a slightly softer note in his voice now, as though he could see something of the battle waging within her. After years of being married to Jane, he had to realise at least some of it.

She met Weller's concern with a steely stare, a warning to back off. "I'm fine."

They both knew it was a lie, but mercifully, he chose not to call her on it. A slight frown creased his brow, but most of the antagonism he'd been displaying was gone. "I'm not psychic, Remi. You're gonna have to give me something to work with, here."

Remi turned away, staring out of the window as she gathered her thoughts. How could she put this in a way that would make him understand her hesitance, but that didn't give him ammunition?

"I don't let people into my head, but if I want you to listen to me, I don't have a choice. I just…" She got no further, unable to find words that wouldn't reveal too much. Palpitations made her anxiety rise higher, and she hoped like hell that he couldn't tell she was trembling.

Weller muttered something under his breath, but she couldn't make it out. Then he spoke more audibly, a note of surrender in his voice. "Okay."

Maybe he was remembering how he'd used to be, back when she'd surveilled him before the ZIP poisoning. He'd never been as cagy as Remi, but from a conversation about exes she'd had with one of Weller's old flames, she knew communication about his own feelings hadn't been his strong suit.

Or maybe she just looked too much like Jane for him to keep her squirming.

"If I had accepted your apology, what would you have said?"

"That I want to stay in contact after tonight." She was glad she couldn't see his reaction. If he was in the mood to gloat that he'd gotten his way, she didn't want to know.

After a few seconds of silence, he said, "What's your angle?"

"Don't trust me?" she asked bitterly.

"You know what you've done. You can hardly blame me."

Silently conceding the point, she returned to the mental block he'd briefly granted her reprieve from. She'd give him the bare minimum, nothing more.

_Even this is more than he should know about you,_ part of her insisted.

Remi overrode it. _I'm already here, aren't I? That tells him he's more important to me than he thought._

Her shoulders ached with tension as she considered her phrasing. This would have been so easy for Jane—why was it so fucking difficult for her? "You know…what I've been through. You know where I came from. My history. My family. I need a connection to someone who knows those things, and since you and Jane wiped out Sandstorm, you're the only one left."

"Same reason Jane needed Oscar." The words were quiet, spoken almost to himself.

Another one of Jane's memories surfaced in Remi's mind.

_You're the only one who knows who I really am. You know me. You make me feel real._

Jane had really said that to Oscar? Maybe they had more in common than Remi had thought.

Maybe she was just as weak as Jane, deep down.

She rested her palms on the windowsill and leaned her weight onto her arms, defeated. His parallel wasn't perfect, but it was fairly accurate. Her hair hung in her face as she admitted, "Something like that."

"And that's why you're here?" She sensed Weller moving closer, but was certain his guard was still up.

"Think I'll end up killing you, like Jane killed Oscar?" she said, still not turning to face him. Verbalising Oscar's fate made her words bitter, but if they were going to talk parallels, it made sense to mention this one.

Weller's voice was measured, careful. Maybe he'd realised she wouldn't tolerate much more conversation about Oscar, or maybe he was thinking about Mayfair's death being the catalyst for Oscar's. "I guess whether or not we both survive depends on what you choose to do with your life. Pick a path where more innocent people get hurt, and I'm gonna make it my problem, because like it or not, you're still my wife. I don't know if we'll both come out of it alive."

She nodded, appreciating his honesty, even if his definition of 'innocent people' probably differed from hers.

"What exactly is it you want from me, Remi? You pour salt in my wounds every time we interact, and you do it on purpose. Why should I put up with that?"

Remi finally turned to face him, leaning against the windowsill and crossing her arms over her stomach. "You'll have a way to keep tabs on me. On Jane's body, since you care so much about getting her back."

Weller was a little more relaxed than when she'd first entered the room, but still wary and closed off. "I was about to walk away from you forever, before you knocked on my door. You said yourself that Jane is dead, and after what happened earlier, I don't feel like arguing otherwise. You're not making a convincing case, here."

Irritated, she scowled at him. "I wish I knew how to do better. All I can say is that I'll try not to bite off your head—but fuck, Weller, sometimes I can't help it."

"Ditto," he shot back, then sighed, making an effort to de-escalate their exchange. "How about we agree that dredging up the past for the specific purpose of hurting each other is off limits?"

"That's fair. Just don't expect me not to feel a little schadenfreude when I remember an epic mistake of Jane's." She shrugged.

Weller shook his head and moved over to the bed, sitting down on the end of it. "You seem to think everyone else considers Jane a saint. No one does, you know. If they treated you with respect and cut you some slack when you were pretending to be her, it's because she earned that. But she's far from perfect, and she never pretended to be."

Remi bit down on the urge to remind him that by referring to Jane in the present tense, he was letting his denial show. Evidently, he didn't think Jane was as dead as he'd just said. But their relationship was too precarious for her to risk setting him off right now. "Yeah, well, I'm comparing her to me."

His eyebrows rose for a moment, and she realised she'd let him too far into her head again. _Fuck._ Remi moved the conversation on. "So those are your terms for staying in contact with me? Keep my insults related to the here and now?"

"I'd prefer no insults at all, but I'm not gonna ask for miracles," he said dryly.

"Your conscience is hardly clean, when it comes to making snarky comments," she pointed out.

"True enough." He gestured to the stool tucked under the vanity in the corner of the room. "You might as well sit, if you're staying awhile. Want a drink?"

Remi looked from the stool to the door, conflicted. Part of her wanted desperately to end the conversation, to take what little remained of her dignity and get the hell away from this man who knew too much.

But she and Weller hadn't yet come to any kind of concrete agreement, so she pulled out the stool and sat down. When she looked up again, Weller had pulled his hip flask from the pocket of his backpack, and was holding it out to her.

She took it from him and unscrewed the cap, swallowing a sigh. It seemed that she'd be enduring his company until midnight, after all.

_Enduring? Some part of you has been longing for this for months, and you know it. You enjoy his company, when you let yourself. But if you keep letting him in, you're gonna end up just like Jane._

Remi ignored the thought and took a sip of Scotch. _I know who I am. ZIP might have been able to change that, but Weller can't._


	8. Common Ground

**Author's Note: **Okay, I started building some bridges in this chapter, and letting Remi see where Kurt is coming from a little bit. They still have a long way to go, but at least they understand each other a teeny bit better now, even if there are some things they can never agree on.

* * *

_She's actually staying?_ Kurt covered his surprise by pulling out the hip flask he'd already packed away. _Didn't see that coming._

This whole conversation had been unpredictable, and he could have used some time alone to process it. At the same time, he was fiercely glad she'd decided to stay. Maybe the next argument would be as bad as the last, but he doubted it. Now that Remi had retracted her claws a little, it was easier to be around her.

If he dismantled Remi's statement about why she was here, her words had been surprisingly plaintive. _I need a connection…_ And instead of making that connection elsewhere, telling someone she'd met since she'd left him about her life, she'd instead come back to him—someone she claimed to hate.

Maybe he was fooling himself again—after all, he and his team had actually been around for Sandstorm's fall, had met Shepherd and Roman, had interacted with Jane—but Kurt couldn't help but find optimism in Remi's decision.

As Remi sipped from the hip flask, Kurt sat back down on the end of the bed. The room was fairly small, only around three feet longer than the bed, so when she passed the flask back, he only had to lean forward in order to take it.

After taking his own sip, Kurt set aside the flask and broke the silence. "So, this whole staying in touch thing—what did you have in mind?"

Remi shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "I don't expect you to care about me, just…register that I'm alive."

Kurt couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for her. He couldn't imagine what it must be like for Remi to survey the ruins of her life, even though he felt no regret for everything they'd done to shut down Sandstorm. Maybe she was overplaying the 'all my friends and family are gone' angle for his benefit, but he didn't think so. Remi had too much stubborn pride for that. "I do care."

She shot him a sceptical glance. "Still not Jane."

"You think I forgot that?" He didn't press the point, knowing that she'd only see an attempt to convince her that he cared about her—Remi—as him trying to manipulate her somehow. Not only that, but he was guessing that some of her anger at being perceived as Jane came from feeling like she'd never measure up. She'd hinted as much earlier, though he didn't think it had been her intention to let him know.

He changed the subject. "Do you still see the FBI as nothing more than terrorists?"

"How's Weitz doing as FBI Director?" Remi countered pointedly.

"Weitz isn't a terrorist. At least terrorists want to change the world. They have a sense of justice, warped though it is. Weitz is only interested in power and recognition for himself."

Remi blinked. Maybe he'd surprised her with his insight.

Kurt shrugged. "He's not the director I would choose to serve under, and I hope he moves on somewhere else. But he's not on the same level as Shepherd. And you can't just say that everyone at the FBI is as bad as Weitz, just for working there. It doesn't work that way."

"Their silence makes them complicit." Remi said, the words spoken almost automatically. He got the sense it wasn't the first time she'd had this conversation with someone.

"Three years before you took the ZIP, I was in the job I have now. I was working under Bethany Mayfair when she was using the Daylight intel. I had no idea what she was doing until I asked her about the casefile she wouldn't get unsealed for us—the one tattooed on your body. Does that make me complicit with her crimes, even though she'd finished with Daylight by the time I learned about it?"

Remi frowned. "No. But you _became_ complicit the day she told you about it, by covering it up. And you looked the other way when Weitz refused to investigate which legitimate bank had ties to the terrorist bank I robbed."

"I'm still looking into that, below the radar. Haven't made any progress, but I'm looking." It bugged him that Weitz could ignore a link between the US banking industry and terrorist organisations so easily, and that wasn't even taking into account his own personal problems with the guy—the way he had tried to drag Kurt before Congress as a terrorist sympathiser. If he'd succeeded, Shepherd would probably have managed to carry out Phase Two, unimpeded by law enforcement.

"But you protected Mayfair with your silence."

He sighed, trying to explain in a way that would make her understand. "I knew Mayfair very well. I knew she'd been under duress when she used Daylight. I knew she regretted it, and she was relieved to stop using it when it was discontinued. And I looked through that casefile. Every single person Mayfair put away would have walked on technicalities for other crimes, some more serious than what they were put away for because of Daylight. She used the intel without abusing it."

Irritation flared in her expression. "So you're saying her use of Daylight was justified?"

"No. I'm saying it was a mistake, but not the entire FBI's mistake. And if Mayfair hadn't used Daylight, she would have been replaced by someone else who would—and they would have used it far worse. Can you imagine what Weitz would have done with all that illegal intel?"

Remi shifted in her seat, and he knew he was getting through to her.

"Blackmail. Extortion. Putting away people who'd oppose his political aims. Giving himself an easy ride to the top." He shook his head. "If I'd known about Daylight at the time, I would have told Mayfair to stop, or lose me from the FBI. But since I only found out after the fact, when she was doing nothing but trying to make up for what she'd done, I made a judgment call."

Remi shook her head. "Your judgment call let your _friend_ get away with illegal activity."

"Maybe so. But how is plotting to frame her for a murder she didn't commit any better?" He gazed at her until she dropped her gaze, scowling. _Yeah, you're hardly innocent, Remi Briggs._ "I'm not gonna tell you I was completely right and you're completely wrong. One of the worst things about Shepherd, for me, is that I agree with her that things need to change. I just disagree with her methods."

"But _your_ actions have changed nothing," Remi argued.

"Not on a massive scale, true. But we stopped the individual cases of corruption in your tattoos. Made things better, if only for a little while."

"So if that's true—if you stopped it all—why is there still a secret Air Force drone command centre at the top of the building where you work? We gave you a tattoo pointing that out. You worked the case and solved it. But there's still a command centre there. Drones are probably still being used illegally, to eliminate people on American soil. And why is Weitz being allowed to say what you will and won't investigate, based on how it will make him look? He may be the head of the FBI, but he should be held to account for his decisions." Remi shook her head. "We're never gonna agree on this, Weller. We might as well not even talk about it."

"Okay. We'll change the subject. But just one last point to think about: Shepherd was sure I was completely incorruptible as she planned Phase Two. She wanted me as one of her new heads of state, or the head of the entire FBI, or whatever her plan would have been. But here I am, knowing that you're Remi again, which makes me married to a known terrorist. And I'm not telling the whole FBI about it, not trying to arrest you."

Remi looked away, her expression unreadable.

"Am I aiding and abetting terrorism by not bringing you in?"

"No, because Jane got immunity for everything I did. That makes all my crimes before I woke up last year irrelevant, and I haven't done anything that can be considered terrorism since." Remi and Jane clearly shared the same stubborn streak.

"Okay, aiding and abetting bank robbery, then. Infiltrating a government agency with the intent to do harm. And your plotting to release a known terrorist—if you'd succeeded, that would have carried a terror charge on its own. And I'm just sitting here, drinking with you." He shrugged. "Shepherd fixated on me, but I'm as human as anyone else. With the right leverage, anyone can be pushed to ignore their usual boundaries."

"I thought we were changing the subject?" Remi said, her jaw set.

He gave up—for now. No point in pushing her past her limit. He'd given her food for thought, at least. "If you want to get back to questions, I think it was your turn."

Maybe Remi was as sick of arguing as he was, because she asked, "What are you working on these days? I assume most of the tattoo cases have either been solved or gone cold by now?"

"We're still looking into Hank Crawford's crimes, trying to get as many of his associates as we can. We have our eye on the new CEO, but so far, she hasn't made any moves." Censoring any sensitive details—Remi wasn't affiliated with the FBI, after all—he gave her a brief rundown of the last case they'd worked. "Your orphanage and the plan for a global army were Crawford's most serious crimes, though."

"I still can't believe Roman joined up with the man who made our childhood a misery." Remi shook her head. "At least he had the common sense to get out of the FBI as soon as the ZIP wore off."

Remembering how devastated Jane had been when Roman had left with Shepherd, Kurt said nothing. He wasn't sure if Remi recalled much about that night, in the wake of the NYO massacre Shepherd had presided over. Jane's fears that she'd become Remi again had come to pass, but not in the way she'd meant them. It hadn't been Jane's choice to set her new life aside, and he couldn't help but view that as the biggest injustice of all, one he would never be able to correct.

One good thing had come of that desolate conversation, though. He'd kissed Jane for the first time since he'd found out she wasn't Taylor Shaw, making sure she knew she held his absolute trust.

And now Remi was looking at him as though she knew exactly where his head was, with a mixture of pity and contempt. Maybe she'd recovered that memory, too. If so, he didn't want to talk about it with her.

Some things were sacred.

"My turn. Since now we've established that you need me…" _Okay, maybe I'm baiting her a little. But after what happened earlier, she deserves it._ "…and so hiding from me isn't quite so important, I assume you'd be able to share a few stories about the K and R you've worked lately?"

His jab drew an immediate scowl, just as he'd known it would. "I might need you in my life occasionally, but that doesn't mean I'm happy about it. Or that I want you to be able to find me whenever you feel like it."

"Can't say I'm too happy about needing you in my life, either. But I do, and _you_ do, so we're gonna have to make the best of it."

Was it his imagination, or had Remi gone still for a split second when he'd admitted he needed her, too?

"Anyway," he continued, sensing that she'd lash out if he asked her about it, "I promise not to try tracking you down unless it's some kind of emergency. Or if you don't show after we've arranged to meet. Is that fair?"

She hesitated a second, then said, "Yeah. It's fair."

After a few more seconds of silence, she began to tell him about a kidnap victim she'd rescued in Spain, a couple of months back. That led them into a debate about rifles, which led them to talking about less conventional weaponry. The conversation between them grew more relaxed as they drew away from personal subjects, and by the time silence fell between them, Kurt was reclining on one elbow on the bed, and Remi was no longer poised to leave at any second.

She was even smiling, albeit very subtly.

Was this the real Remi, under her defensive shield of anger?

Kurt reminded himself that some of the weaponry she'd improvised over the years had probably been used against people who didn't deserve it. He couldn't fall into the trap of assuming she was like Jane. He already knew that wasn't true.

He took another sip from his hip flask—only the second since they'd begun talking, so he was still mostly sober—and offered the flask to Remi before resuming his reclined position. Her throat shifted as she swallowed some Scotch, the bird tattoo on her neck fluttering a little, and he tore his gaze away, reminding himself yet again that she wasn't Jane.

Not that that had stopped him from fucking her at the cabin. Or from buying a condom earlier tonight, just in case.

_Get it together, Weller. It was a one-off, to stop her from leaving before you could persuade her to stay. And sleeping with her again will just make everything hurt more._

* * *

Remi had known Weller was easy to talk to from her months undercover as his wife, but she'd assumed the easiness between them was because he'd thought she was Jane. Tonight, though, they'd been talking about weaponry and mission tactics for over an hour, and he seemed as into the discussion as he ever had been during conversations with 'Jane'. Maybe this whole keeping-in-contact thing would be less infuriating than she'd thought.

After setting aside the hip flask, Remi pulled her phone out of her pocket, noting that it wasn't too far from midnight. In less than half an hour, the agreement she and Weller had made would be over, and she'd have no excuse to linger.

_And that's fine. This has dragged out long enough. Better to keep each visit short, and leave plenty of time between each one._

_Even if he did say he needs me, too._ _Obviously, he means he needs to hope that I'll turn back into Jane._

Before she could change her mind, she hit the call button on her contacts entry for Weller, then hung up as soon as she heard vibration coming from the direction of the bed. As he glanced over his shoulder in the general direction of his phone, she clarified, "That was me. So now you have my number. Don't use it unless you have to."

He grabbed the phone, smiling a little. "Don't worry. No drunk dialling you at one in the morning—I promise."

As he messed with his phone, probably saving her number to his contacts list, Remi was startled to realise that the idea of getting a random call from him in the middle of the night wasn't as unwelcome as he assumed. Frowning, she pushed back the urge to smile at the thought. _He'd be calling me because he was thinking of Jane. And maybe he'd even start _calling_ me Jane, if he was drunk enough. He better not be saving my number under Jane's contact entry…_

Kurt set aside the phone, his expression becoming more serious. "Thank you for this. I know it's not something you'd do lightly."

She gave an awkward shrug, unable to meet his eyes. Then, as he shifted position on the bed, the lamplight caught his arm a little differently, and she frowned, looking closer at the area just below the sleeve of his shirt. "Is that a new scar?"

"Oh—yeah." Kurt glanced down at it a little distractedly, as though it was of no consequence. "It's a few months old, now."

"What happened?" she asked, her eyes still fixed on the scar.

He hesitated, as though unwilling to tell the story, and she shot him an impatient look. As though sensing that it wasn't a question she'd let him dodge, he sighed. "I was off my game that day, and a suspect with a knife took advantage of that."

"Off your game how?" Remi's voice emerged more sharply than she meant it to.

"Hadn't slept well." Weller shrugged, not meeting her eyes.

From his evasiveness, she suspected it was more like 'hadn't slept well for a couple of months, because Jane was gone', but couldn't bring herself to ask. _It's not my fault his wife is dead. It's not my fault he has that scar._

Even so, she couldn't help but feel guilty. "Fuck, Weller. You're lucky they didn't get your throat."

Kurt shrugged, rubbing his arm a little defensively. "He didn't. Nearly nicked the artery, though."

_Do I have to watch over you every second? You're supposed to be one of the FBI's finest!_ Remi somehow kept the thoughts inside, hiding them behind a fierce scowl. "Anyone else manage to almost kill you lately?"

Instead of taking offence at the question, he grinned at her, the first genuine, unguarded smile she'd seen from him since he'd figured out who she really was. "You really do care about me."

She'd forgotten how his smile transformed his face, amplified his good looks. _Fuck, Briggs, are you really that shallow? Under the pretty face, he's a hundred percent Fed._

She glowered over at him, suddenly irritated by the way he was lounging on the bed, propped up by one elbow. _Like he's totally relaxed around me. How can he be? Last time we met, I crept up behind him and sedated him against his will. Is he really stupid enough to let down his guard again?_

In the position he was in, it would be easy to crawl up his body and start undoing his pants.

_Okay, this is getting ridiculous. _She gave him a cold stare, making sure he couldn't see what was going on in her head.

"Fuck you, Weller. That wasn't why I asked."

As he had at the cabin, he raised an eyebrow at her phrasing. Remi quietly raged at his insinuation, his words from back then coming back to her: _You keep saying that, I'm gonna start thinking it's a suggestion._

As she folded her arms, her jaw aching from the way she was gritting her teeth, Weller said, "No, no other major injuries. How about you? How did the wound on your back heal?"

The memory of his gentle touch, as he'd stitched and dressed the cut between her shoulder blades, made Remi want to strip off her shirt and let him see for himself. She just knew he wouldn't be able to resist examining his handiwork more closely.

_What the fuck is wrong with me right now?_

"It healed fine. No issues. There's a scar, but it's not too dramatic." She shrugged.

"Managed to stay out of trouble since then?" he asked.

"More or less. I didn't nearly get slashed to pieces because I was half asleep, anyway."

Her attempt to verbally repel him just made him smile again. What was going on in his head? Ever since they'd started talking about injuries, he'd gone from defensive to almost amused. Had she given herself away somehow?

She had to get out of here, before she lost control of herself a second time.

Getting to her feet, she said, "That's it, I'm out of here. I'll be in touch in a couple of months, or something. Never thought I'd say this to _you_, but…try not to die in the meantime."

He sat up, frowning. "Leaving already?"

"It's almost midnight," she said shortly.

"And you have an important meeting to get to in the morning?" His tone held mild sarcasm.

As Remi reached the door, she spun in irritation, finding him getting to his feet.

"What are you complaining about? You have my number, but don't bother using it. I'll call when I'm free." _And that's that._

"What are you running from, all of a sudden?" he demanded.

Remi set her jaw and squared up to him, trying for intimidation. He was so much taller than her that it didn't work as well as she'd hoped. "Just because I'm leaving, that doesn't mean I'm running. I came here to you, remember?"

Weller's expression held a hint of sadness. "You can drop your defences around me for more than two seconds without having to run off, you know."

"No, Kurt. I can't." The words had left her lips before she'd even considered them properly. Maybe she'd had more to drink than she'd thought.

"What do you think I'm gonna do to you, if you stay a while longer?" He gazed down at her, his eyes intense.

_Fuck me until I can't remember who I am._ She wasn't sure if it was an answer to his question, or a plea. Either way, there was no way she was saying it out loud.

"Why do you want me to stay? We hate each other," she said, knowing it was a lie, but throwing it at him nevertheless.

"I've only ever hated one person in my life, and he's dead." Weller took a step closer, and it took everything Remi had not to retreat from him. "I told you before. What's between us? It's not hate."

"It sure as hell isn't love," she spat back at him.

_He only wants Jane. No matter how good it would feel to fuck him again._

"Never said it was love, either." He reached out, slowly enough that she could see his intent, and cupped her face in his hand. The sensation was so achingly familiar that she had to stop herself from reaching for him. "Leave, if you want to leave. I won't stop you."

She should. She had to. But she couldn't move, every atom in her body seeming to scream out for his touch.

"I fucking hate this," she muttered.

"You think it's any easier for me?" He dropped his guard along with his hand, letting her see the sadness, anger and lust raging through him. "You think this doesn't tear me the hell apart?"

She gave up the fight, finally allowing her own internal struggle to show on her face. "I guess we understand each other, then."

He nodded, but didn't move. "You said you have issues with sex these days. Decide what you want, Remi."

_Just leave. Get out of here. You know you're gonna regret this._

She ignored the thought, slamming into him so hard that he had to take a step back. Adjusting fast, he met her with equal violence, pulling her head back by her hair to deepen their kiss, crushing her tight against his body.

All the objections, fears and doubts in her mind fell silent, leaving only a rush of desperate need. _Yes… Oh, fuck, yes…_

_Finally…_


	9. Control

**Author's Note:** It took me like 25,000 words to get here, but yay! Why can't I just write Reller smut without having to give it an epic angsty plot? I have no idea - but the good news is, with this chapter I now have them both accepting that when they're in the same place, they're going to want to have sex. So I can just one-shot fics set after this one if I feel like a less slow-burny approach.

Anyway. This turned out kinkier than I originally intended, since there is some knife play here (no one gets cut, though). But mostly it's just Reller being Reller, with orgasms. I'd love to know what you think of this one, since it's a little bit edgier than usual - no pun intended.

* * *

_As a coping strategy for dealing with loss, this is as screwed up as it gets._

The thought was brief, quickly forgotten as Kurt fell into the moment, immersed in Jane's scent, the feel of her body against his, the taste of her lips. Remi wasn't Jane—fuck, Jane would never have been able to accumulate enough rage to kiss like Remi did—but if he ignored that, he could almost imagine he had his wife back, just for one more night.

Remi parted from him for long enough to rip his shirt off over his head, then wound her arms around his neck again as they kissed, her fingernails scratching across his upper back hard enough to hurt. Realising he was getting harder by the second, she stood on her tiptoes to rub her clit over the ridge in his jeans. Kurt slid his hands down to her ass, pressing her as close as he could get her, his pulse jumping as she gave a low moan of encouragement.

He tore his lips from hers, needing to get her undressed, and Remi kissed his neck as he reached for the hem of her shirt. Hiding her face from him. What was she afraid he'd see? Or was it something in his expression she was running from?

As he pulled off her shirt, then the sports bra she wore beneath it, he fought the urge to make her look into his eyes as he pleasured her. He just wanted to figure her out, to somehow find Jane within Remi. His wife had to still be in there somewhere—not as a separate entity, maybe, but as part of the woman who'd preceded her. But he knew on an instinctive level that Remi would see that search as the most intimate of betrayals, a deal-breaker beyond anything else he could do to her.

He contented himself with kissing her again, one arm tight around her waist as he tugged and teased her nipple between his fingers. Remi dug her fingers into his shoulders, her breath catching as he increased the pressure of his pinch. She endured it for only a second before reaching for his belt, and anticipation rushed through his system at the implications.

She unzipped and pushed down his jeans without teasing his cock, and his underwear followed. Once he was naked, his clothing distractedly kicked aside, she broke their intense kiss and stepped back.

Kurt's entire body protested, but he remained still as she drank in the sight of his body, her gaze filled with heat. He swallowed hard, waiting for her to make a venomous comment or ruin the moment somehow, but she just looked him over for a second, not malicious, but lustfully indecisive.

"Get back over here," he growled, his patience strained by the need he'd finally stopped denying.

She stepped back within his reach, but before he could pull her back into his embrace, she left a rapid, searing trail of kisses and licks down his torso, ending up on her knees before him.

_Oh, fuck._

At last, she wrapped her hand around his cock and stroked up, slow and firm, her breath against his skin driving him crazy. He managed to speak her name—Remi, not Jane—somehow making it a demand instead of a plea. In response, he _felt_ her silent exhalation of laughter, just before she took him into her mouth.

He groaned, pushing as deep as she would let him go, then savouring the caress of her tongue and the slight suction of her mouth as she slowly leaned back. He gathered her hair in his grip, pulling it back from her face so it wouldn't get in the way—and so he could watch her more easily. Remi met his gaze with a steady, challenging stare—no affection along with the lust, but no outright hostility, either. If he hadn't known her penchant for bravado, he might have been a little intimidated.

In truth, he was surprised Remi had decided to give him head—not that he was complaining. Maybe it was a power play, to have the most vulnerable area of his body in her mouth and hands, and to have him completely at her mercy. It sure as hell wouldn't be because she wanted to turn him on or get him off—not without some kind of benefit to her.

Amidst the haze of pleasure as she sucked and licked him, he remembered how he'd left her on the verge of orgasm at the cabin. One moment she'd been writhing against his tongue and fingers, a breath away from her climax, and the next she'd been filled with desperate frustration as he'd stood up and turned his back on her.

This was probably revenge.

With a mental curse, he met her eyes again. "How long until you get up and leave me hanging, the way I did to you at the cabin?"

Amusement crept into her expression, though she didn't stop what she was doing. Was it his imagination, or had she tightened her light grip on his balls just a little?

He'd have no way to know if she intended to fuck with his head until it happened. All he could do was widen his stance a little, hoping to gain a little more stability as his knees grew weaker, and tell her, "Remember this, next time you say I don't trust you."

Remi managed to give him a sarcastic look, even with his cock in her mouth. That was as much as he registered before she rubbed the spot just behind his balls, stroked up and down his shaft faster, sucked him harder. His thoughts scattered, and his orgasm built rapidly.

He focused everything he had on remaining upright, using his grip on Remi's hair to spur her on, trying not to outright fuck her mouth, barely able to remember that she might leave him on the brink of climax. Either her muscle memory was making up for the gaps in her knowledge of Jane's life, or she'd recalled them doing this before, because her technique was perfect.

"So fucking close…" He only just managed to get the words out before the strong pulses of ecstasy hit him, made all the stronger by his shock that she'd actually let him get there. He groaned his relief, his body trembling as he drove as deep into Remi's mouth as she'd allow.

He'd wanted to watch her watching him come, to figure out why she'd chosen to do this, but the pleasure obliterated his focus, leaving him unable to register what he was seeing. By the time he realised her motivations were still a mystery to him, she was already sitting back on her heels, wiping her mouth before getting to her feet.

"Sit down before you fall down," she advised, a note of amusement in her voice.

He managed to stumble the rest of the way to the bed, taking the weight off his unsteady legs with relief. "Take off your pants and get over here."

"Or what?"

For her to be pushing back at such an obvious next step, it was clear she was feeling vulnerable. "Or I can't return the favour."

Remi leaned against the wall, lifting one of her feet to unlace her boot and discard it. "Return the favour? Or get most of the way there and then stop again?"

He reached for his wallet on the nightstand, opened it and pulled out the condom he'd bought in the restaurant bathroom. He'd need a little longer to recover, but it made sense to be prepared. "If giving you my word that I won't stop isn't enough, you can sit on my face and take what you need."

Was it his imagination, or did she falter for a split second as she unlaced her other boot?

"Probably less fatal than what I had in mind, which was to threaten you with this." As she pulled off the footwear, she dragged up the cuff of her cargo pants to reveal the ankle sheath beneath. Pulling the small, flat knife from it, she held it up for him to see, then set it down on the vanity.

As life-threatening as it could have been—steady hands and sexual frustration being opposing concepts—Kurt couldn't help but be aroused by the idea of a pissed off, turned on Remi pressing a knife to his throat, demanding that he finish what he'd started.

Before he could say anything else, her gaze dropped to the condom on the bedspread, and she snorted. "You just happened to have that with you? So much for your precious marriage vows."

_I'm not the one who's been trying to sleep around while we've been apart._

"I got it from the restaurant bathroom tonight, since you couldn't stop talking about sex while we ate, and I was pretty sure you were gonna jump me again." 'Pretty sure' and 'couldn't stop' were both exaggerations, and that would only make her more pissed off, but he was irritated enough that he was glad to get under her skin.

Instantly incensed, Remi stopped halfway through unfastening her cargo pants, and advanced on him—leaving the knife where it was, thank god. Then again, she didn't need it in order to be a deadly weapon. "You thought I was a sure thing? Fuck, I can't _believe_ I let you come just now."

"No point in storming out without getting something in return. Let me balance the scales." He reached for the waistband of her pants, wanting to tug her onto the bed with him, but she grabbed his wrist, still scowling at him.

"You're not in control here, Weller."

He wanted to laugh at that. Outside of dangerous situations, or benching her at work, when had he ever been in control of anything she did—as Remi, or as Jane? Maybe once in his entire life.

Despite that thought, he kept a straight face as he waited, sensing that her stubborn pride could overwhelm her need for sex. He didn't even dare to respond, in case he made the situation worse.

After a couple more thorny seconds, Remi released his wrist. "Lie down."

She needed to be in control to feel safe, and in this particular instance, he was fine with that. But he wasn't about to make it easy for her. "Make me."

He wasn't sure if she looked more furious or aroused as she stripped the rest of the way to naked, sending a longing glance at the knife she'd set aside. Evidently, it would have gotten in the way of whatever she was planning, since the next thing he knew, his back hit the mattress—hard—and Remi climbed astride his waist. _Fuck, that's hot._

He reached for her hips, but she intercepted his hands, pinning his wrists to the bed on either side of his head. He couldn't help but struggle, testing her determination, and she pinned him harder, her thighs clamping around his sides as she scooted up his body a little.

He swallowed hard, feeling her wet heat pressed against his abs. "God, I want to get you off." Already, his cock was beginning to recover, the combined familiarity and unpredictability of Remi's advances intriguing his body and mind.

Conflict flashed through her eyes. He suspected that it bugged her that he wanted the same thing she did, though he couldn't be sure. But the hesitation was just momentary, before she moved farther up his body, pinning his arms under her shins. If he lifted his head off the pillow, he'd just about be able to reach her.

"Do it," she ordered.

* * *

_What is it about this man that I can't resist?_

The traitorous thought made Remi frown, and she corrected herself silently. _I could resist if I wanted to. This is just an experiment, to make sure I don't end up needing to bail, the way I did with those other guys._

Even as she had the thought, she was already laughing at herself. She hadn't even let the other guys kiss her before she'd left them in her dust. Tonight, Weller had already come in her mouth, and now he was so close to going down on her that she could feel his breath on her skin. The idea that she'd leave before they were done was ludicrous.

The ten months they'd been apart had given him time to rebuild the muscle he'd lost during his three-month rehabilitation from his gunshot wound, and then some. She guessed he must have been using the gym to work out his issues, because he was much fitter these days—not in the sleek, sculpted way Oscar had been, but more like a broad, solid wall of muscle. Kurt Weller telegraphed raw power these days, and Remi definitely appreciated that.

God, she needed him to taste her. "Damn it, Weller—"

As though he'd been waiting for her to lose her cool, he lifted his head and met her halfway, his mouth confident and sensual. Remi grabbed the headboard of the bed, swallowing a moan, unwilling to give him any more evidence that she was desperate for him.

_Oh, my god, I hate that he can make me feel this good._

Kurt's arms were still pinned by her shins, and he attempted to free them, clearly wanting to draw her closer. She ignored him for the moment, her pride still too sore about the way he'd implied it was easy to tell she wanted him. She'd spent the whole night telling herself she _wouldn't_ sleep with him, not trying to persuade him to do it.

At least now she didn't have to admit that she'd bought a condom tonight, too.

She rocked subtly against his jaw, enjoying the gradual build of sensual tension at every stroke of his tongue. He gave another symbolic struggle, and she glanced down to make sure he was just trying to push his luck, not seriously asking for her to let him go. He was already watching her, and as he met her gaze, she could have sworn warmth crept into his eyes.

_Hell, no. Don't do that to me, you bastard. Don't pretend you care, like it's not Jane you want to fuck._

But it was too late. That warmth was already spreading through her chest, trickling down lower, making everything ten times more erotic. Closing her eyes as self-defence against the unwanted emotion, Remi bucked against his mouth, unable to help her moan as pleasure curled around her hips, tingled through her clit, made her clutch the headboard even tighter.

He groaned against her, his frustrated appreciation plain. Remi bit her lip, unable to control the urge to grind down harder against his talented tongue. "Fuck, that's _perfect_…"

_I just said that out loud?_ She knew she should care, but desire was winding her up tightly, making her lose her train of thought before self-consciousness or defensiveness could creep in.

A few seconds later, his confident technique tripped an invisible trigger, making her call out his name. She rode his mouth through each glorious swell of pleasure, triumphant that he hadn't been able to deny her this time, half stunned with the force of the climax. Her cries of release sheared off with a gasp as Kurt wrenched his arms free, taking advantage of her distraction, and somehow managed to pull her down onto her back. Before she could even think to summon a protest, he was back between her legs, flashing a quick, sinfully suggestive grin before putting his tongue to work again.

"Fuck," she panted, digging her nails into his scalp as a second orgasm approached. "Don't you dare fucking stop…"

He slid a finger inside her easily, then a second, his tongue still curving around and over her clit as he stroked over her sweet spot. She grabbed a handful of the bedcovers, so close that she couldn't do anything but gasp, anticipating the moment where the tension would break.

When she finally peaked, shaking from the inside out, her toes curling into the blanket, Kurt didn't let up, and another orgasm followed, then another, and another…

"No more," she somehow managed to say, pushing on the top of his head to dissuade him. She was exhausted, the torrent of pleasure he'd unleashed lingering as he sat up.

"You okay?" His question was genuine, no trace of smugness in his expression.

Remi nodded breathlessly, closing her eyes to shut him out as reality began to dawn on her again.

She uncurled her fingers from their death grip on the bedspread, and her arm brushed something that crinkled a little. Frowning, she reached for it, her fingers connecting with the condom he'd taken from his wallet, what felt like hours ago.

Just as she came to that realisation, Kurt got up off the bed, heading into the bathroom without a stitch on. Remi watched him go with a mixture of consternation and lust. When he returned a few moments later, carrying a glass of water, she sat up to avoid staring at his very hard, very prominent erection.

He passed her the water without comment. Remi drank deeply, thankful to relieve her dry mouth. His silence grew more unnerving by the moment, and by the time she set the empty glass down on the nightstand, she was feeling a little lost.

Kurt was watching her when she looked up, a tiny frown on his face.

"What?" she snapped, her uncertainty emerging as an attack, just like always.

He shook his head. "Just…trying to figure out if there's something I can say that won't lead to you biting off my head."

"Are you comparing me to a praying mantis?" Maybe he'd given her so much stress relief that she had no stress left, because she found the idea more amusing than annoying.

"Things with you aren't quite that simple. Or literal." He laced his fingers through hers, and her heart gave a traitorous flutter. "Planning to do something with that?"

She realised the condom was still in her other hand, and decided to get back on familiar ground—intimidation. She'd seen the flash of intrigue in his eyes when she'd told him she'd considered taking an orgasm at knifepoint. If she was careful, she might even manage it without cutting him to ribbons.

Without giving him any warning, she got up from the bed and took the few steps from the bed to the dresser, where the knife lay. It was sharp enough to use in a pinch, but she'd misplaced her whetstone, so the edge was duller than she would usually keep it. That worked in her favour now.

"What the hell—?" Kurt started, as she turned back towards the bed.

"Relax. I'm not gonna gut you. I just saw the look on your face when I mentioned holding you at knifepoint earlier. You're kinkier than I thought."

He was tense as she climbed astride him, but the lust warring with his uncertainty decided her. Carefully, she rested the blade against his neck, just below and parallel to his jawline. "_Now_ how much do you trust me?"

He swallowed hard. "Doesn't come down to trust. If you're carrying that around, it's because it's sharp enough to do some serious damage. If you get distracted—"

"And if I promise to put it down before things get too distracting?" She rested the condom on her thigh, then reached down to take his cock in her empty hand, unable to help a smile when he gave a soft, aroused grunt in response.

"If I tell you to stop, you stop." Despite the desire on his face, his eyes were sharply focused.

"I give you my word." She continued to stroke slowly, making sure he felt the knife's continued presence against his neck without pressing down enough to score his skin. As she slid her thumb over the head of his cock, it came away wet with his arousal, which just made her want him more.

He gave the smallest of nods, wary of the knife, and a shiver of excitement passed through Remi.

"The condom is on my left thigh. Take it out of the package and pass it here."

Kurt unwrapped the condom, while Remi ran the point of the knife very gently down his throat, continuing on down his sternum, then his abs—

"Stop." There was only a slight edge to his tone, as if he wasn't seriously concerned she'd make good on the threat. That just made her want to do it, continue to trail the knife down until genuine alarm sparked in his eyes—but she'd already given her word, and she wouldn't break it now.

Remi sighed and returned the knife to his throat, wishing she had a blunt knife with her so she could fuck with his head a little more. This was even hotter than she'd expected, and she wanted to play a little more—but this knife was too sharp.

_Maybe next time._

_Next time? You're planning for a next time? Fuck, Briggs, what is wrong with you?_

Before Weller could see her internal debate, she took the condom he offered and positioned it on the head of his cock. Not trusting herself to do the job right with only one hand—and there was no fucking way she was having his kid—she said, "You keep it in place, and I'll roll it on."

She made a tease out of it, watching him struggle to stay where he was and not take this whole thing into his own hands. _Fuck, he's so hot when he's frustrated…_

Once the birth control was in place, she pinched one of his nipples with her lubricated fingers, then rubbed a little. "Admit it. You bought that condom because you were _hoping_ I'd let you use it, not because you knew I would."

"I don't take anything for granted where you're concerned."

Remi shifted in his lap, pressing her clit up against his shaft. Resisting her own urge to writhe against him, she asked, "You wanna be inside me?"

"Probably about as much as you want me there."

She ached for him to fill her, only her own stubbornness and her need to torment him holding her back. If he wanted her just as much, he must be half out of his mind.

Kurt subconsciously wet his lips with his tongue, his gaze straying to her lips. Remi grew hungry for more than just his cock. Careful to keep the pressure of the knife consistent, she kissed him, rough and demanding, drawing back with a slight shift of the knife when he began to respond, leaving him frustrated.

"You get what I give you," she told him, and fought back a grin at his annoyance.

"This time, we're doing it your way. Next time, we're doing it mine."

Her heart leapt at the implication that there would be a next time. She glared at him to cover the reaction. "That's optimistic of you."

Weller snorted. "I have no idea when you'll next decide to show up in my life. Weeks from now? Months? A year? Whenever it is, I don't see the point in spending hours pretending we're not thinking about this."

She let him feel the knife a little harder, still careful to control the pressure so she wouldn't cut him. "This?"

He rocked his hips up a little, the movement slow and smooth, to avoid surprising her while the knife was in place. "This."

Fuck, she needed him. The knife was beginning to be a burden as much as a turn-on. It required a level of focus she was swiftly losing. Not only that, but she had to distract him from the idea of next time. Just because they both knew they planned to do this again in the future, that didn't mean she had to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. "Kiss me."

He raised an eyebrow. "You gonna let me, this time?"

"Try it and find out." She eased the pressure enough that he was no longer in any danger, just the flat of the blade against his skin now, and gave him a dominant, demanding kiss.

As he began to respond, she let the knife fall from her fingers to the floor behind her, then took his face in both hands, tipping his head back a little to kiss him deeper, slower, harsher.

The moment he realised both of her hands were on him, the knife discarded, he lifted her by the hips, meeting her punishing kisses with his own as he pulled her down onto his rock-hard cock. Remi dug her fingernails into his shoulders, savouring the feel of his insistent entry. _Oh, fuck… I forgot how good it feels to take him this deep._

Remi realised she was breathing shakily against his neck, holding him as tightly as he was holding her. She didn't want to let go, his warmth and scent comforting her just as much as they turned her on. She'd only fucked him once before—at least, as herself—but she'd missed this more than she could quantify.

_Focus! You're not here to fucking cuddle, Briggs. Stop being so damn weak and sentimental._

"You good?" Kurt murmured, loosening his grip on her a little.

She drew back just enough to kiss him again, taking the offensive to hide the vulnerability she was feeling. He responded forcefully, making her fight for control of the kiss until she tore her lips from his.

"Fuck me like you hate me."

He stared at her, the heat in his eyes tinged with pain now. Pity for her? Grief for Jane? She didn't know, didn't want to analyse it. _Don't go all touchy-feely on me now, damn it!_

"Don't make me get up and find the knife, Weller. Fuck. Me. Hard."

Kurt tipped her onto the bed, his weight crushing her for one breathless second before he braced himself over her. The intensity in his expression gave her butterflies, but before she could interpret it properly, he leaned down to give her a swift, hard kiss. "Your way this time. My way next time."

Before she could respond, he began to take her, quickly increasing the force of each thrust until he was pounding every thought from her mind. Remi scratched her fingernails over his back, spurring him on, making sure he knew that this was exactly what she needed.

Unable to help herself, she reached down to where they were joined, wetting her fingers and skating them over her clit. She'd come so many times already under his tongue, but if she didn't take one last orgasm, he might stop what he was doing to check she was enjoying herself. Smacking him in the face out of pure frustration wouldn't be the best way to end this.

Kurt breathed a curse as she tightened around him, so close already that they could both feel it. Remi moaned in response, the only communication she could muster as she edged towards ecstasy one final time. _Kurt…oh, fuck, you feel so good…_

As her orgasm crested, Remi muffled her cries of passion against his shoulder, surrendering to the sensation. Kurt slowed his pace, driving into her hard and deep, his climax taking over in turn. The pleasure began to ebb away, leaving them sated and panting for breath, and Remi wrapped her arms and legs around her husband, unable to let him go just yet.

Kurt lay still for a few seconds, recovering, before nuzzling her neck, then rolling away and sitting up. Remi kept her eyes closed, trying to persuade herself that the loss of contact between them was no big deal.

He got up from the bed, presumably to deal with the condom, and Remi steeled herself. _Time to get going. The longer you stay, the more likely it is that you'll end up fighting again._

But then Kurt returned, stretching out beside her, pulling her against him, and she was too exhausted and satiated to resist. As he pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, she felt herself slipping towards sleep.

_Have to get up…_ _You can't just stay here… _But she was so comfortable, the blanket he draped over them warding off the slight chill, and she couldn't figure out how to translate her thought into action. By the time he murmured a soft, surprised goodnight against her shoulder, she had already floated off into blessedly uncomplicated oblivion.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Any thoughts on how pissed Remi is going to be when she wakes up to realise she's been snuggling up to Kurt all night? :D


	10. Turbulent Thoughts

**Author's Note: **Here's a little bit of aftermath, and Remi is in full defensive mode. Because obviously, Reller will never be uncomplicated. One more chapter to go after this, and that's Crossroads finished - but not the whole Damaged Goods series, obviously. They've still got plenty of ground to cover after this fic is done!

* * *

_Wow. Didn't see that coming._

If someone had told Kurt twenty-four hours ago that Remi Briggs would be sleeping naked in his arms tonight, he would have laughed at them. Even twenty-four _seconds_ ago, he would never have believed she'd lower her guard enough, not now he knew who she really was.

Yet the impossible had happened. Kurt didn't think for a second that she'd decided to stay on purpose—more likely, exhaustion had overtaken her. Maybe she hadn't been sleeping well. That would make two of them.

Despite the urge to follow her into sleep, he couldn't help but hold on to the moment. Closing his eyes, he inhaled her familiar scent, unprepared for the depth of the ache in his chest. Right now, it was just like having Jane back with him. No need to be on his guard, or to see her grow more defensive with each vulnerable moment she experienced. No need to remember to call her Remi, or to choose his words carefully to avoid another verbal attack in response.

Remi took a deep breath, turning onto her back in her sleep. Kurt froze, not wanting to wake her. He could have coped if she'd taken off right after they'd finished having sex, but now it looked like she was staying the night, he was desperate to take the extra time with his wife—even if she wasn't the woman he'd fallen in love with right now.

As Remi settled, her head turned slightly toward him, Kurt studied her features. With no trace of the cynicism, suspicion and irritation he was used to seeing on her face these days, she looked so much like the woman he'd married that tears came to his eyes.

_God, Jane, I miss you. If I could just go back to our wedding day, live it all over again, then take you to Dr. Roga to make sure your ZIP poisoning never advanced as far as resetting your memories…_

He swallowed thickly, willing the grief away. That ship had sailed. There was no undoing what had happened, and he was starting to accept that. Jane, as he'd known her, was gone for good.

And he was stuck in purgatory, unable to help being drawn to Remi, the woman who'd reopened his deepest wounds, yet in doing so had allowed them to heal cleanly for the first time. If not for Remi's ruse, Bill Weller would never have made his deathbed confession to Kurt—his son wouldn't have been there. Kurt very much doubted their father would have confessed to Sarah, and so he would have died with his secret.

Kurt owed Remi, both for making Jane believe she was Taylor, and for erasing her memory so that Jane came into his life. Even though she'd hurt him more than he could quantify, she'd also made it possible for him to defeat his demons—albeit by accident.

He just wished like hell that Remi's ideals didn't conflict so strongly with his own. Phase Two would have been an abomination, and Remi had been willing to do her part for Phase One—sending an amnesiac version of herself to the FBI—in order to facilitate it.

Even now, as he lay beside her, watching her sleep peacefully, he couldn't help but revile himself for his weakness. He had to admit it to himself—he wasn't just fucking Remi because she looked like Jane. He was mesmerised by Remi herself, by the glimpses of vulnerability, honour and guilt he saw under her hard shell, the Janelike moments that told him she was still his beloved wife—just embittered and in profound emotional pain.

_And part of that pain is because her terrorist friends and family are dead. Because their plan to overthrow the government failed, and because she turned against herself when she sided with the FBI. She deserves to be in pain for what she tried to help Shepherd do. If things had been different, would she have been there in that ambulance instead of Shepherd, with a beacon in her stomach, telling me all the reasons why the Eastern Seaboard needed to be nuked? _

Thinking of Shepherd sent an involuntary shudder through him. With a parent like that, it was no wonder Remi had embraced extremism. But she wasn't the only one who'd had a shitty childhood. If his father had tried to recruit him to a terrorist cause, Kurt would have left, informed the authorities, and never looked back with regret once the bastard had been caught.

_You can't compare her circumstances to yours. If Dad had been as charismatic and persuasive as Shepherd when you were a kid, instead of a vile-tempered drunk, who knows what you could have turned out to be?_

These thoughts had gone through his head a million times already, and would probably repeat a million times more before he died. And how many of those times would he be sleeping next to Remi Briggs, physically sated but emotionally at war with himself?

_Fuck me like you hate me._

He'd known she was in a dark place—it was impossible to miss the signs—but that request had made him falter, unable to comply. He couldn't reflect that self-hatred back at her—he had too much compassion, even for a terrorist like Remi.

And he couldn't hate her, either. In a strange way, he felt connected to her in a way he hadn't been to Jane. They'd both been damaged at an early age, in different ways. Then they'd been betrayed by parental figures over many years, while struggling to grow up and leave their toxic childhood nests. They'd both been the older sibling, desperately worried for the safety of the younger, seeing themselves as protectors, the weight of the responsibility almost crushing them.

Jane had remembered some of her childhood, but Remi had lived it, experienced it all firsthand. When Kurt looked at Remi, he recognised a kindred spirit, and his gut instinct told him it was the same for her. Watching her struggle to express herself earlier, when she'd been stricken mute by her own anxiety about letting him into her head, he'd seen himself in an earlier phase of his life, veering around any discussion of the emotions he'd tried to bury. He'd lightened up a little by the time he'd met Jane, Sawyer's birth having made him resolve to be a good uncle. Interacting with his nephew had shone a light into his life that hadn't been there before. He'd learned to soften some of his hard edges, let go of some of his anger—for Sawyer's sake, and for Sarah's. He doubted Remi had an equivalent experience in her life.

Did he love her? No. But the more time he spent with her, the more puzzle pieces he put together. He couldn't claim to fully understand her, but he was intrigued. She filled his thoughts almost as much as Jane did. He wanted to know more about her, even as he was disgusted by himself for that urge.

_She's a terrorist. And she's way too stubborn to change. Her identity is important to her; it's all she has left. She'll cling to it forever._

_But what about her memories? She's still getting them back, slowly. She's still wearing her wedding ring. She hasn't removed any of the tattoos. And she still wants to stay in contact, no matter what she says the reason is. Those things have to mean something._

_I have to give up on Jane._

_But I won't. I can't. Not unless I get a clear sign from Remi that she doesn't feel this…whatever it is between us. And for now, I know she does—otherwise, she wouldn't have come to find me tonight._

_I can't let her call all the shots, though. She can't just use and discard me whenever she wants, leave me worrying about her for months at a time again._

_Fuck, Jane, I miss you._

And now he'd come full circle, his thoughts ending the loop and beginning anew. Kurt was too emotionally exhausted to go through it all again, so he blanked his mind, focusing on the present moment—Remi's even breathing, the glow of the lamp on the nightstand at his back, the distant laughter of some passers-by on the street.

As he closed his eyes once more, he focused on the comfort and familiarity of his wife's presence. No matter what was going on in her mind at the moment, her body was still Jane's, and it was an immense balm to his soul to be holding her again after all this time.

She was safe. She was here, in body and even partially in spirit, deep down.

More contented than he had any right to be, Kurt slept.

* * *

Remi floated up from deep sleep into another dream of Jane's life, filled with both happiness and despair. Would she ever stop dreaming these memories, of being snuggled against Kurt, warm and safe, cherished and desired?

This time she was in Venice, in the hotel room Jane had stayed in with her new fiancé. They were both naked, lying on their stomachs, Jane's arm and leg draped over Kurt as he slumbered.

From her vantage point as Jane, Remi gazed into her husband's sleeping face. He looked peaceful, the slight frown he always wore smoothed away from his brow. There were a few grey whiskers amidst his stubble, only visible from this close up. He really was a stunningly handsome man.

Her gaze drifted down to the scar on his upper arm, still dark from recent healing.

The _new_ scar, which he hadn't had when he'd visited Venice with Jane.

Everything rushed back, and tension froze Remi's body in place. _Not a dream. You slept here with Weller, all night. What the hell were you thinking, Briggs?_

Now she was noticing all the little things that she'd blanked out when she'd assumed she was dreaming again. The scent of him—of both of them. The daylight streaming through the cracks in the shutters. The lamp that was still on from last night—Kurt must have been afraid that in turning it off, he'd wake her.

_You have to get out of here. Maybe you can get up, dressed and gone before he wakes up._ She wasn't quite on the verge of panic, but her anxiety was far stronger than the situation warranted, given the fact that she'd woken up beside him probably a hundred times before now.

But that had been different. She'd been pretending to be Jane then, with Weller oblivious. If he woke up now, he'd…

_He'll what? You're being ridiculous. He already knows you slept in his bed all night. Escaping now won't erase that knowledge. It won't stop him from thinking you're more Jane than you are. The damage is done. Leaving now will just make you look ashamed of what you did. Or worse—afraid to face it._

Even so, she felt far too vulnerable to just go back to sleep.

Carefully, she repositioned her leg from where it was draped over his. Kurt stirred, and she froze once more, holding her breath, then cursed herself for it. _He's gonna wake up anyway. When have you ever gotten out of bed without him waking up? Not since he stopped taking the heavy duty pain meds._

She withdrew her arm from over his back, then turned on her side, facing away from him and tucking her legs up to her chest.

_I will not run from this. At least, not now I know he's waking up._

_Fuck. How did I let this happen?_

A couple of moments later, Kurt sighed and turned over, reaching out to skim his hand over her waist, to rest on her stomach. His touch sent a not-entirely-unwelcome tingle through her.

"Morning," he mumbled, then lifted his head to press a kiss against her shoulder. "How'd you sleep?"

She fought the urge to scoot back, to wriggle against his morning wood and distract them both from her awkward mistake. "A little too well." She rose up on one elbow, glancing backwards at him for one swift instant that she instantly regretted. _He looks so good right now. I could just—_

_Just nothing! Get out of here!_

"I'll get out of your way."

Before she could sit all the way upright, Kurt tightened his arm around her, brushing a soft kiss over the architectural tattoo in the middle of her back. "You don't have to."

Her resolve weakened at the touch of his lips, and she firmed it with a shake of her head. "Yes. I do."

Before she could change her mind, she got out of bed and started pulling on her clothes. Behind her, Weller sighed and got up, too, pulling on his underwear before disappearing into the bathroom.

Part of her hated that she was hurting him, but what had he expected? That she'd snuggle up to him and they'd go back to sleep?

She'd just laced up her boots when she noticed her knife, still lying on the floor where she'd dropped it the night before. She bent to pick it up, unable to help a small smile at the memory of how she'd used it. As much as admitting it annoyed her, she'd had fun last night. When was the last time she could claim to have had fun, before this?

_He's wearing you down. Making you weaker. And now he knows how to contact you. Before you know it, you'll be just like Jane, tethered to his side, working for the FBI again. A cog in the government machine. Protecting and serving the status quo._

She tensed up at the thought, panic dimly registering at the edge of her mind. She couldn't lose herself again. She just couldn't, not when she'd only been herself again for a year, and there was no way to undo the mess Jane had made of her life last time—

A touch on her arm made her spin defensively, the knife still in her hand. Weller hissed with pain, shock and betrayal in his eyes as he pressed his hand to his bare chest, right over his heart.

For a moment, she was frozen, silent, horrified shame crashing over her at the instinctive way she'd lashed out.

"What the hell, Remi?" He took a step back, not taking his eyes off her for a second.

Her first aid instincts kicked in, but she couldn't make herself rush to his side and help to treat the wound that she'd inflicted. Her own fears that she was softening up, becoming Jane, wouldn't allow her to move.

_There isn't blood seeping through his fingers, so it must just be a scratch. It's not serious. It'll leave a small scar, at most._

_I could have seriously hurt him._

_I've _already_ seriously hurt him. Just not in a way that bleeds._

"You snuck up on me," she said, grabbing the knife sheath from the dresser-top and sheathing the blade. "I didn't mean for that to happen, I just—"

"It's not deep. Don't worry about it."

Weller relaxed enough to take a look beneath his hand. She glimpsed blood on his fingers and chest before she turned away, her guilt suffocating her.

"You don't want to be around me, Weller. I'm damaged goods." She reached for the doorknob, heaviness settling in her chest. "I'll call in a few weeks. You should dress that wound."

He spoke her name as she opened the door, but she couldn't make herself turn around. Not when she'd already fucked this situation up enough. As she left the room, she sensed him coming after her and increased her pace, pulling her room key out of her pocket in preparation to escape his gaze.

She allowed herself one glance back down the hall as she pushed open the door to her own room. Weller was standing in the doorway to his, wearing only a pair of boxer-briefs, his hand shielding the cut she'd given him. "You don't have to run away, Remi."

For an instant, she hesitated, the sadness and pain on his face calling to her. She could still return to his side, clean and dress his wound the way he'd done for her last year, make amends for her accidental attack.

_And then what? You go out for breakfast together? You have to leave sometime. Just go._

She stepped out of his sight and pushed the door firmly shut behind her, then leaned against it, closing her eyes. _This whole trip has been a fucking mess. I should never have come back here._

Choosing action over introspection, she headed for the shower, intent on scrubbing his scent off her skin, erasing the past twelve hours from her mind. At the same time, she ached to know that he might never trust her again—might never want to hold her, or kiss her, or fuck her.

God, why was she like this? She'd told him she was damaged goods, and that was true enough. Remi was under no illusions that she was mentally healthy—the demons from her childhood had never gone away, and Orion's betrayal had made everything worse. Not to mention _Jane's_ contribution to the mess that was her life—killing her lover, hunting down her family, getting captured and tortured by the CIA…

But she used to have better impulse control than this. Maybe sleeping in Weller's bed had rattled her more than she'd thought. It was so unlike her to fall asleep easily in an unfamiliar place, and especially in the company of someone else. That was such a Jane thing to do that it scared her.

At least she didn't have to see Weller for a while. That would help her get back on stable ground, remember who she was and what she wanted.

_What_ do _I want?_

Kurt's smile flashed through her mind, and she dug her nails into her palms, shocking herself out of the temporary insanity. _That is _not_ what I want. I need him, someone who knows who I am, while I set up a life that's mine again, but that doesn't mean I want him around more than he has to be._

_I'll find a purpose. Find people I can trust and confide in. Then I won't need Weller anymore._

Shoving away the knowledge that she'd only ever fully trusted five or six people in her entire life—all of whom were now dead or in prison—she finished undressing and stepped under the shower spray.

* * *

Kurt ran his fingers over the dressing on his chest, sighing. Luckily, his go bag always contained a first aid kit, and after taking a quick shower, he'd been able to dress the glancing knife wound Remi had given him. It was superficial, barely deep enough to need a steri-strip, but as with many superficial wounds, it hurt more than it should.

On a physical level, and an emotional one.

He'd been stupid to touch her when she'd given no sign that she knew he was there. He was so used to her being hyper-alert around him that he'd never thought he'd be able to startle her, but then, he'd never thought she'd sleep in his bed last night, either. He'd seen genuine remorse in her face when she realised she'd injured him, but she was clearly too unnerved at how their night had ended to help him treat the wound.

It was as though all the walls he'd worked so hard to scale the night before had grown a hundred feet taller, and he wasn't sure where he stood with her now.

And once again, he'd watched her walk away from him, not knowing when he'd next see her. At least this time, he had a way to contact her—if she didn't ditch the phone, after the regrets she seemed to be having this morning.

He pulled on his shirt and re-packed his bag, moving on autopilot. It wasn't as though he'd expected to part from Remi with a kiss and hug goodbye, but something about this bothered him more than it should. Maybe it was her fear. He hated the idea that she was running scared—from him, of all people.

Kurt took one last look around the room, then turned towards the door, putting his back to the bed he and Remi had shared. Would he ever come back to this room, now that his memories with Remi were so tied to the ones of Jane? He doubted it. What had once been a cherished recollection of his engagement to Jane was now tainted by Remi's presence, and the unexpected wound she'd given him.

And yet, there were good memories here with Remi, too. They'd had a long discussion about weapons and tactics last night, and despite their verbal sparring—or maybe because of it—the sex had been incredible. It was unfair to consider his memories of this room tainted, the way the ones of the restaurant had been, yesterday.

_Time to go._

He opened the door and stepped out into the hall, his eyes immediately straying to the closed door of Remi's room. Had she checked out already? Or was she still in there, preparing for her trip back to wherever she called home these days?

As he walked past her door, it opened unexpectedly, and he looked up into Remi's startled eyes. She must not have anticipated that he'd be leaving at the same time she was, any more than he had.

He turned towards her, blocking her path out of the room. "Hey. Thought you might have already gone."

"I was just leaving." The flash of shame he glimpsed in her eyes gave him hope. She felt bad about how she'd treated him, which was more than he would have expected before yesterday's revelations. She replaced it with abrupt irritation, an act he saw straight through. "I'll wait a few more minutes. You go check out first."

As she stepped back, retreating into her room, he took a step into the doorway, unsure what he was hoping to achieve. "You don't have to feel bad. About this." He touched his chest, indicating where the knife had sliced into his skin.

"I don't. You brought it on yourself by sneaking up on me." Her protective bravado was back in full force. "And I didn't say you could come in here."

"I want to say goodbye properly."

Was it his imagination, or had longing flashed through her expression, just for an instant? Sighing, she turned away and moved farther into the room, and he let his backpack fall to the floor as the door closed behind him.

"What exactly is your idea of a proper goodbye, Weller?" She didn't turn back around to look at him.

Wary of her lashing out again, he made sure she saw his movement out of the corner of her eye, before he slid his arms around her from behind. Pulling her back against him, he kissed the side of her neck, nuzzling his way through the curtain of her freshly washed hair to graze the bird tattoo with his lips. "Tell me to let you go, and I will."

She was tense, trembling slightly, and he sensed that she was biting back the urge to do just that. He closed his eyes, waiting for the words, yet hoping she wouldn't push him away. He couldn't just leave without going some way to repairing the damage this morning had wrought—even though Remi was the one who'd wrecked things.

If she told him to go, he'd give up and leave. But deep down, he sensed she needed to fix things between them, too. Maybe he was being delusional, seeing what he wanted to see, but experience had taught him Remi was more complicated than she wanted anyone to know. And if nothing else was true about their relationship, she still sexually desired him. Last night was proof of that.

_You think she'll let you fuck it all better? You don't even have a condom, if it comes to that._

He was nowhere naïve enough to think sex would heal the rift between them. But it would show her that he didn't hold this morning's accidental attack against her.

_How do you think this is gonna end, Weller?_ Even if they had sex again, their goodbye would still be stilted, awkward.

Even so, he would have spent a little more time holding her, touching her, easing her loneliness along with his own. Maybe that was what he really needed—not the additional goodbye, but the reconnection before it.

But whatever happened now was up to Remi.


	11. His Way

**Author's Note: **Okay, final chapter! But not the final story in the series, so if you get to the end of this chapter and it feels unfinished, that's why. I plan to pick up with Reller again somewhere in Europe, a couple of months later in the timeline - but I won't be starting that one yet.

* * *

_Damn him._

She'd thought she could get away clean—no more Weller encounters—but she'd had to pick the exact moment he was walking past her door to try to leave. If not for the surprise and wariness in his eyes, she'd have accused him of lying in wait for her.

Now he was in her hotel room, his arms around her waist, his solid warmth pressed against her back, and she was trying not to melt back against him like he was the only thing in the world that still mattered to her.

"Tell me to let you go, and I will."

The sharp words were on the tip of her tongue, but died there as Weller slid his fingertips up under her shirt, increasing their skin-to-skin contact just a little. Her skin tingled, and she bit her lip, her resolve to get out of there faltering.

"Haven't I hurt you enough yet?" she said, the words emerging much less hostile than she'd hoped they'd be.

"Obviously not," he replied, the vibrations from his voice against her ear thrilling through her.

He trailed his fingertips over her abdomen, letting the tips dip below her waistband before withdrawing them again.

"You really think more sex will make leaving easier?" _For either of us?_

As though her mentioning sex had been permission, he undid the button at her waistband and slowly worked down her zipper. Remi's traitorous heart skipped, while he murmured, "Easier? No. But we both know it'll feel good."

He slid his hand down into her pants and gently rubbed her clit through her underwear. A touch that light should never have provoked such a strong reaction, but she found herself leaning towards his fingers.

"Weller…" she managed to say, unsure whether it was a complaint or a plea.

Evidently, he wasn't, either, because he stilled his touch, waiting for either a concrete go-ahead or a brush-off. His cock was hard against her tailbone, but he remained motionless.

_Damn you for making me want you so much. Damn you for making me decide, instead of just taking what you want. Fuck!_

With an exasperated sound of surrender, she rubbed her ass back against his hard-on, and she sensed Weller's relief in the way his arms tightened around her. "My way this time, remember?"

After a moment, she remembered what he'd said the night before—and the care she'd taken to avoid falling into his trap. "I never agreed to that."

In response, he began that light, infuriatingly sexy rubbing against the front of her underwear again, nuzzling her neck until she was too turned on to resist.

"Fine. Your way. But only if you take me from behind."

He sighed against her ear, sending a wave of goosebumps over her skin. "I wish I could, but I only had one condom. I can't be inside you again, not unless I go shopping, and something tells me you're not planning to stick around much longer."

Remi yanked off her shirt and sports bra in one move, the light, steady strokes of his fingers driving her crazy. As he took advantage of her exposed breasts, palming one with his free hand, then pinching and rolling the nipple, she struggled with her own ego.

_I still have a condom. But if I tell him that, he'll know that I bought one last night. He already thinks I'm an easy lay._

_But oh, fuck, I want him inside me again._

He ground his hips against her ass, and Remi felt a moment of shame at how one-sided she was letting this become. He was a patient lover, but she was doing nothing to pleasure him in return. She was making her emotional issues his problem, and no matter how much bad feeling was between them at times, that wasn't fair.

She turned in his arms, reaching for his shirt. After ripping it off over his head, she drew his head down to meet her urgent kiss, then reached for his belt buckle as his tongue met hers.

Kurt made a low, appreciative sound against her lips as she reached into his underwear, his cock hot and solid in her hand. He kicked off his shoes distractedly, still lost in their kisses, then got rid of the rest of his clothing, then drew her closer, beginning to torment her nipple with his fingertips.

Letting him support her, she somehow managed to yank off her boots without unlacing them, then worked down everything else, breaking their kiss so she could think straight.

As though he was afraid thinking would lead to her kicking him out, Kurt drew her back into their original position, his chest against her back and his arms around her waist. He reached down to cup her sensitive mound, not rubbing or pressing down, just holding her there.

"Fuck, you're wet. If we had protection, I'd be inside you already."

"Kurt…" Remi tilted her hips forward, desperate for friction, but he moved his hand right along with her, ensuring her effort was futile.

"So fucking deep, Remi." He nipped her earlobe between his teeth, then kissed her neck again, his tongue briefly flicking out against her skin.

_Oh, god… Just rub me, you bastard!_

She ached for him, her growing frustration unravelling her composure little by little. Reaching behind her, she wrapped her fingers around his cock and stroked upward. He moaned against her neck, beginning those teasing, light strokes again, and her legs trembled.

"Tell me you want me." He ran one finger up her slit, the caress so light that she could barely feel it, and Remi craved him with every atom in her body.

She bit down on the urge to say whatever he wanted, tightening her grip on his cock a little. "Does it turn you on when I state the obvious?"

He laughed softly. "When the obvious is _this_? You're damn right, it does."

To distract him, she turned her head, knowing he wouldn't be able to resist if she brought her mouth within reach of his. Kurt took one long, needy taste of her lips, then spun her to face him once more. His shaft pressing against her clit, no clothing between them now, he gathered her hair in his hand and pulling her head back, just roughly enough to set her pulse racing.

One tiny hint of a smile, and then he kissed her again, deep and hungry, making heat flare in her pelvic cradle. She dug her fingers into his muscular ass and pressed closer, wishing she could stand on her tiptoes and position his cock just right, then take him inside her.

_No. No matter how much I want it, risking pregnancy would be fucking stupid._

_Where did I put that condom?_

When he relinquished her lips, they were both breathless, and she could see the same struggle she felt in his eyes. Only he had no idea she had birth control stashed in her bag. She could grant their shared wish, but she'd have to get over herself.

"C'mere." He pulled her backwards onto the bed, then gave her one last ravenous kiss before turning her away from him. "If I can't fuck you the way I want to, at least I can improvise."

Remi drew in a shaky breath as he wet his finger with her arousal and eased it into her. _He's fucking me from behind like I asked, even if it's not with his cock. Damn it, why can't he be selfish once in a while? Fuck, I want…_

The rest of her common sense fled as he withdrew the finger, then pressed it back in, along with a second. She rolled onto her stomach, spreading her legs to allow him to keep going. "Fuck me."

"My way, remember?"

Remi groaned at his slow, teasing pace. "What do you want?"

"Say it. Tell me you want me."

She scowled to cover her irrational embarrassment. It was too much. Too _true_. He already knew it, could already _feel_ it, but if she said the words, it would mean she acknowledged that truth instead of ignoring it. "Fuck you."

He continued his slow, steady strokes, seeming completely unsurprised and unruffled by her verbal abuse. "If I wanted to, how long do you think I'd be willing to keep you on the edge?"

This was Weller. At this rate, his patience would outlast hers easily. "Damn you."

"So that's damn me and fuck me…anything else to add to the list?" His tone was amused, but she could sense the frustration in it.

"Weller…" The edge in her voice was real. She rubbed against the bedcovers, arched her back to drag her nipples over the fabric beneath her, and inwardly cursed herself for being so damn stubborn. And for needing him so much more than she should.

He lay down beside her, still keeping his fingers in play. "God, I want you," he murmured against her lips, then kissed her, firm and demanding.

_I want you, too. You have no idea how much I need this—ah, fuck!_

He sped up the strokes of his fingers, not delving as deep inside, but hitting the sweet spot inside her every time. Remi rode his hand, losing any self-consciousness she might have felt, the pleasure too delicious to resist.

"Kurt… Oh, fuck, _right there—_"

Then she was too lost to register anything else, muffling her cries of release against the bedcovers as she bucked against his fingers. Too soon, he withdrew, leaving her panting and needy. How could she still crave him so much when he'd already made her come?

It was more than just the hunger for release, now. Remi wanted Kurt to feel the same spark she felt when he thrust, wanted him to lose control and slam into her over and over, a slave to his instincts as he took her. She needed to sense his excitement and tension even as hers mounted, so that they both strove for the same goal.

She needed him to hold her close as he came.

Her thoughts too muddled by desire for her ego to get in the way, she reached over the edge of the bed, feeling for the bag she'd dropped there. After a second, she pulled it onto the mattress with them.

"What are you doing?" Kurt's voice was a little guarded. Maybe he thought she was going for her knife again. While that was an intriguing thought, it wasn't her intent this time.

"Give me a second." She located the right compartment and pulled out the condom she'd stashed there, then held it up a little defensively, letting the bag drop back onto the floor.

Looking startled, he took it from her. Then his eyebrow rose, a smile creeping over his face as he echoed her words from the night before. "You just…happened to have this with you?"

"I've been carrying it around for months." As lies went, it wasn't her most convincing—but it wasn't bad.

He tore open the foil, took out the birth control, then held the empty packet within her line of sight. "I might have believed you…except that this one is the same brand as the one I bought last night, which I've never seen before. _And_…there's writing in Italian all over it."

_Fuck._

She scowled up at him. "Maybe I went somewhere else in Italy a few months ago."

"Or maybe you just thought I was easy." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter to me. All that matters right now is that we have it."

She watched him roll on the condom, cursing herself for her weakness even as her anticipation grew. One orgasm was never enough with this man, and somehow, she wanted him to come just as much as she wanted it for herself.

_That doesn't mean I'm invested in him. It just means I don't want to leave sexual debts unpaid, that's all._

Sitting up, she asked, "You ready?"

"Almost." Instead of trying to get inside her, he leaned in close. "My way, remember?"

The kiss he gave her was slow and seductive, his hands softly cupping her face. She tried to escalate it, to get him to kiss harder, with less technique and more force. He wouldn't let her, pulling back just enough to dissuade her, then resuming where he left off. With every teasing brush of his lips, her desire rose; with every curl of his tongue against hers, he unravelled her composure.

He'd never kissed her like this before. Part of her hoped he never would again.

_Too intense. This is how he'd kiss _Jane.

Yet she didn't push him away, running her hands over his chest, his abs, his back… God, she wanted him so much, it was like she hadn't come at all yet.

He broke off, his eyes still closed, a slight smile on his lips. She didn't know whether she wanted to punch him or kiss him again, so she turned her back to him, thwarting both urges. _Thank god I asked him to take me from behind. I couldn't take it if he kissed me like that while he was inside me._

Weller kissed her shoulder, then cupped her hips in his hands. "Let me in?"

Not trusting herself to speak, Remi rose onto her hands and knees, her emotions still tumultuous. Weller brushed a kiss over her back, just before she felt the head of his cock rubbing tantalisingly up and down her folds.

"Weller," she murmured, trying to warn him not to tease.

"You want this?" He continued to drive her crazy, refusing to drive inside her, frustrating her beyond measure.

"You know what I want." _Now give it to me. I need it._

"Say it."

"Weller, I swear to god—"

He reached around and gave a soft, open-handed slap against her mound, symbolic rather than painful. The impact quaked through her, shockingly pleasurable, and she gasped.

Before she could respond, he leaned over her back, speaking close to her shoulder. "I let you threaten me with a knife last night. Is it really that hard to say three little words?"

"Is this some kind of power trip for you?" she demanded, trying to ignore the guilt at his mention of the knife. He hadn't needed to say the rest: _You cut me with that same knife this morning, and you won't do this one little thing I'm asking?_

Remi scowled. _He might think it's a little thing, but it's not._

Kurt trailed kisses down her spine, then resumed slowly rubbing the head of his cock against her clit. Remi sighed with pleasure, despite herself.

His voice was low and intense. "There's so much more I could ask for. But all I want is for you to tell me what we both already know. I'm not giving in this time, Remi."

He was right there against her. If he'd let her, she could lean back and take his cock right now—but she knew he wouldn't stand for it. Nothing would sway him until she gave in to his demand. She could hear it in his tone.

"Weller—"

"Just admit it, and I'll fuck you."

She bit the inside of her cheek, unsure whether she was suppressing insults or the urge to beg.

He slid his cock up over her clit once more, the friction making her swallow a whimper. Down, then up again, and goddamn him, how could he keep such iron control of himself when she wanted him so fucking badly?

"Oh, god," she whispered, panting with the need for him to relent.

"Please, Remi." Rather than gloating that he had the control, he almost sounded…sad. And that shouldn't have mattered to her, but his lack of smugness changed everything.

She didn't fully get why this was so damn important to him, but it would only cost her a little pride to give him what he wanted.

"I want you so damn much, I can't think straight," she snarled, hiding her weakness under disproportionate anger. "Just fuck me, already!"

True to his word, he drove inside her, almost all the way in one steady, forceful thrust. She was so wet that he met little resistance, and soon she'd taken all of him, finally filled by his thick, hard cock.

_So…fucking…perfect._

Her thighs gave an involuntary tremble as he pulled almost all the way out of her, then returned in a slow, smooth thrust. Up until now—yesterday, and last year at the cabin—their sex had always bordered on violent, jarring her breath from her with every hard jerk of his hips. This was different—not soft and sentimental the way she'd feared he'd want it, but somehow a richer, more sensual experience.

Unable to help herself, she rested her weight on her forearms instead of her hands, curving her spine so that her breasts brushed the blanket and her ass tilted up, giving him easier access. "Mmmmm…"

He stroked his hand over her lower back, a silent, tactile acknowledgement of her pleasure, and increased his pace just a little.

Craving more, she rested her forehead on the blanket and reminded herself not to beg. "Kurt…"

"You feel fucking amazing," he growled, still gradually increasing the speed of his thrusts.

She breathed his name again, more of a plea than a demand, then roughened her tone, trying to bury her mortifying slip. "Harder."

"You don't get to control this one," he told her, trailing his fingers down her spine and making her shiver.

Irritated by her own response, she snapped, "Then I guess I'll just have to be bored."

He stopped moving, and she gave a wordless grumble, slamming back against him, jolting him deeper inside her. Weller just laughed, held her hips still, and withdrew almost all the way out of her in the slowest, most infuriating way ever.

"This might take a while longer than you want it to. But you're not gonna be bored." To prove it, he drove into her again, steady and unhurried, making her quiver.

"Ugh, I hate you," she muttered, unable to find the rage to fill the words. She was impatient, but only distantly irritated. And so very far from bored.

"No, you don't." He sounded amused, and that really _did_ piss her off. Yet she couldn't bring herself to wrest control from him, despite knowing he'd let her do it if she tried hard enough.

Part of her loved being at his mercy, letting him have his fun. Especially since—though she hated to admit it—his fun involved pleasuring her.

He hit her G-spot just right, and she swallowed a moan. She'd die before she gave him any extra satisfaction right now—even though he could read her reactions easily, she at least had control over the sounds she made.

Now he sped up, his thrusts urgent, but not violent. She curled her fingers into the bedcovers, gasping as he continued to hit the perfect spot inside her every time. A cry tore from her throat before she could stop it, and she squeezed her eyes shut, inwardly cursing herself. It was bad enough he'd made her admit how much she wanted him, without reinforcing it.

He reached down to cup her mound, his thrusts jolting her hips forward, pushing her clit into his palm over and over. Remi's whole body rippled into tense, expectant pleasure. She was so, so close to losing it, and he was still in control, no anger or violence in his movements.

She opened her mouth to provoke him, but another moan escaped instead.

"God, I love hearing you like this."

If she could have pulled a thought together, she was sure she would have found that annoying, somehow, but the obvious appreciation in his voice was too sexy to resist. She drove back against him, matching his rhythm, and finally reached the peak she'd been striving for, muffling her cries of ecstasy against the blanket. _Oh, fuck, yes!_

He withdrew his hand from between her legs, grabbing her hips with both hands, and let his own need take over, pounding into her deep and hard. Yet his fingers didn't dig in hard enough to hurt, and she sensed no antagonism in his thrusts.

"Hurt me," she demanded breathlessly.

"Why?" He didn't slow down, but neither did he comply with her request.

_Because I deserve it. Because I hurt you. And because it's fucking hot. _"Because it'll get me off again."

He laughed. "Persuasive argument… But so will this."

He dealt her another light, painless spank right over her clit, bringing her halfway up towards orgasm again with one small movement.

"More," she demanded, slamming back against him. "Harder!"

"Only because I need this as much as you do," he told her, and gave her several more slaps right over her clit—still not painful, but fast enough to make her gasp.

She bit back a plea as he took her forcefully, his self-control slipping now. "Again."

He ignored her for a few thrusts, just to prove that he was still the one in charge, then dealt her the final few rapid, firm spanks she needed to come again.

"Fuck, yes!" Remi arched and writhed, caught by the irresistible tides of her climax. Behind her, Kurt drove deep, his own release shuddering through him as her internal muscles squeezed him tightly. Remi wanted to reach behind her for his hand, squeeze it as they both rode out the pleasure. Instead, she dug her fingernails into the blankets and savoured it alone.

Kurt sat back on his heels, pulling out of her sooner than she'd expected, and she rolled onto her back, frowning. Her heart still pounding, she struggled into a sitting position, watching him deal with the condom.

He turned back towards her, leaning over for a lingering kiss—not as intimate as the one he'd given her earlier, but still more so than their usual kisses. Despite her vague sense of emotional discomfort, she couldn't help but return it, reaching out to place her hand on his chest.

Her fingers met the dressing he'd applied to the cut she'd given him, and she faltered, ending the kiss to look down at the gauze. _You're a mess, Briggs. You fuck him, and then you hurt him. First the sedative at the cabin. Then the knife this morning. What are you gonna do this time?_

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "It's okay."

_Don't forgive me, you bastard! How am I meant to act if you won't stay angry at me?_

She took a deep breath, nodded, then moved past him, off the bed. Without a backwards glance, she grabbed her underwear and sports bra, then went into the bathroom, needing some time alone to collect herself. He didn't try to stop her, though she sensed his thoughtful gaze on her as she left.

With the bathroom door firmly shut, she sagged against the counter, giving a shaky sigh.

_What am I supposed to do now? I never know how to act with him. We don't have a relationship, but he doesn't act like we're just fucking, either._

_It was never like this with Osc—with anyone else. I was always the one who had the control, set the mood. Weller makes me question everything I know about myself, about the world… I hate that!_

For the first time, their coupling wasn't all about anger. She hadn't just been using him to get off, or she'd have given him a quick hand job after he'd fingered her to orgasm—just to balance the scales—and then left. But no, she'd let him know that she'd bought that stupid condom. She'd let him fuck her just the way _he'd_ wanted to, and she'd revelled in it.

She felt as though she'd betrayed Oscar, even as part of her was still euphoric, her body remembering Weller's touch just as well as her mind. It had been more than just sex—last night _and_ this morning. It had been connection, too—his laughter, his voice, being able to repay the pleasure he gave her. Feeling his breath catch, riding high on his unspoken trust as she'd held the knife to his throat. The charge between them, strong and undeniable.

And those kisses…

_He's the enemy._

_He's your only ally._

Remi was so fucking confused. She wanted to curl up with him and let him stroke her hair. She wanted to run far away and never see him again. She wanted to trash this room just to dispel the nervous frustration building within her, to drive her fist into the wall so that pain would overpower her guilt.

_Whose feelings are these? Would Shepherd and Roman and Oscar even recognise me now? Am I the Remi I always was, before the ZIP? Before Jane?_

She pulled on her undergarments and freshened up, avoiding looking at her own reflection. She already knew it would have an accusatory gaze.

_The plan hasn't changed. It's time to get out of here. Get dressed and leave, no matter how he tries to persuade you to stay. Get back to Serbia. Figure out what your next step is. And put Weller out of your damn mind for as long as possible._

* * *

Kurt swiftly finished dressing, despite being in two minds about this course of action. He was pretty sure he was making the right decision, but even so, this felt like a fuck-and-run.

Remi hated to feel weak, and she'd just let him take control. When she came back out of the bathroom, she'd be as closed off as he'd ever seen her, determined to push him away, and if he tried to get through to her again, she'd probably say something they'd both regret.

It'd be better to say a quick goodbye and get some distance, leave her to work through her issues alone. He couldn't force her to let him in, and something told him they were nowhere near close enough for her to confide in him any further.

He was just picking his backpack up from the floor when the bathroom door opened. He turned to see Remi standing in the doorway, and for a brief moment she looked taken aback, as though she'd been hoping he'd stay. But that expression was gone before he was even sure he'd seen it, and coldness took its place.

Before she could go on the offensive, he spoke first. "I'm leaving before we can hurt each other again. I think we could both use some space."

Remi leaned against the doorframe, her arms folded over her stomach. "Fine by me," she said levelly.

Kurt took a breath, choosing his words with care. "I know you're at a crossroads in your life right now. I can't influence which direction you choose. You know the lines I can't stand by and let you cross. If you decide to make an enemy out of me, I guess there's nothing I can do to prevent that. But, Remi… I hope you won't. You're better than that."

He shifted the backpack onto his shoulder, waiting for her response. Aside for a barely audible snort—probably at the idea that she could be a better person—she remained silent, her glacial stare unwavering. Sighing, Kurt reached for the door handle, then paused, unable to bring himself to look at her again.

"There's just one thing I ask. If you decide to ditch the phone and drop off the radar again—if you decide you don't need me after all, that you're done with me—mail me your wedding ring. That way, I'll know I can give up hope."

Not wanting to know her reaction to that, he opened the door, then hesitated with one foot in the doorway. "You know how to reach me. Stay safe, Remi."

_Just go._

Her icy silence didn't break as he left the room, the door softly closing behind him.

_If you love something, set it free. If it comes back, it's yours. If not, it wasn't meant to be._

Squaring his shoulders, Kurt Weller walked away_._

* * *

**Author's Note: **The end... for now! I'd love to know what you thought of this chapter, and the fic as a whole, so if you have feelings and thoughts to share, I'm more than happy to listen! Where do you think Reller will go from here? And thank you all, as always, for reading along. You guys make me smile. :)


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